fumbling
my hands
all over these words,
fumbling with them
like a 16-year-old boy,
a first-time lover,
stumbles across
dream terrain
with his hands
and his misplaced kisses.
it takes an almost absent lover
to make this body,
this page
Sing.
forget your noise,
your exploitation of inside,
sift through the rough diamonds
of your mind,
and piece together
a flowing necklace
for Her.
Marc Mannheimer
http://www.poemhunter.com/
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