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Free Range Poet
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Spills I try to handle you so carefully So as not to spill a drop Still occasionally some of you Makes its way away And loveliness grows And complexity is born As the beauty and scent of the rose And the reality of the thorn I find myself crossed at wits Gleaning frustration at common sense Because it is too common To gain my own association Drawing measure as to whether They are indeed wits at all Or just wits in absence of my station So if I hold you not so tight Don’t think it is because I do not want to I just sense that spills give back so much more Of what I love about you |
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‘Spills’ is number 69 in my first book of poems titled ‘Rain forest'.
Sometimes love nudges our concern for each other, to the point of perceived restraint. Each of us needs room to grow, to preserve the magic you were attracted to in the first place.
For an amazing relationship, let careful go just a little bit.
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Free Range Poet |