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love poetry chat

green afternoon serene and bright
over the river they beckon to me
where shall i find you
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
we lay
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
with lips blood red and heart of stone
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
noises that strive to tear
rising moon has hid the stars

 



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