My Woman
My cherished woman,
Without a face,
Dwells in my books,
And diaries,
Without a stance;
In my coffee cup,
She swims
And passes in my mirror,
Without a trace;
She wanders
About In my veins,
sings in my heart,
Recreates in my brain,
Without a trance,
When she leaves;
I follow vibrations
Of her presence,
Fading in the street's noise,
And fashionable curiosity,
Love of the city,
In every place,
Carrying a shy red rose,
My heart,
Which she knows,
She often plants passion
There,
In every space,
That she irrigates,
With warm stream,
In patience,
As it grows,
And only sighs,
As she goes
With innocent pace.
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