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free love poetry

my mother twines me roses wet with dew
the dawn was apple-green
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
she might have known it in the earlier spring
take my bracelets
noises that strive to tear
when i looked into your eyes
splendid and terrible your love
in mournful numbers
i stood
soft as the bed in the earth
come down at dawn from windless hills
very well, you liberals

 



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