Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Out Of Breath


When I was alone and saw your face.
Inside my room my window,
was the porthole to your deep eyed soul.

Your dark skin was warmer than the sun.
Could you tell me once again,
just why I called your lovely name?
Release me or I swear I'll go insane.

Submitted: Saturday, July 06, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 17, 2013

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