Is It Poetry
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.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)