Poets

My body’s ugly, she says, Silently demanding approval A wrinkle here, a wrinkle there A stomach far beyond compare,

<font color=purple>I sit in my armchair and still caress your thighs… These wooden frames contain for me forever The memory of your smile…

<font color=red>They harm themselves from day to day For pain that will not go away Is it in their arms or in their legs?