He, In The Wistful Air Poem by Barry Van Asten

He, In The Wistful Air



He, in the wistful air,
Turned away like sheets, twisting,
And still our love was inward, pressing...
As our hearts in displaced care
Made each his own cell, silent, wishing
That two souls so dark and rare
And so in love, would sing:
O lucky his bed now, I thought
And lucky his numbing smile to me.

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Barry Van Asten

Barry Van Asten

Birmingham, England
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