A truth it is that man's joy is incomplete,
But passion is everything, this I do posit.
I find mine in the depth of your eyes,
The thick of your deep spasmodic sighs;
My greed and my desire,
To meld with you as with fire
Makes me explore every inch of your covering
To find what really makes your being
I shall be patient as should death,
Till our unity is permanent on this hearth.
I despise these bodies that separate us
I swear to find an opening to make one of us
In shivering, in vibrations to make one,
For minutes of eternity at least we are one.
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Comments about this poem (One by Oke Christopher )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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