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Every smoking silhouette
Grabs my attention.
Every spectacled head
Makes me skip a beat.
Every head with sideburns
Makes me breathless.

For I long to discover , the presence of thee.

Why would you do this?
Why didn’t you love me?
You’ve left me starving,
For all my life to come, certainly.

“I want to do with you,what spring does with the cherry trees.”

You seduced me with Neruda,
And then declared,

“A woman waits for me”

As in Whitman‘s poems.

Then, you made love to me, likeBukowski
And I responded
“Like A flower in the Rain”.

We loved and loved till I realised
That I lived like Anne Sexton‘s ,

“whore you had bought”.

I “howled

like Ginsberg,
To get this imperious gesture out of my mind!
Until I could render, with painful designs,

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines”.

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