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I love a woman
who’s hand is in
another’s palm
is satisfied
unlike the bee sting itch in mine.
I wish for stepping stones
from me
to you
but isolated ponds
of Himalayan mass
I cannot cross.
I weep
she smiles
as she has love
and I have only loss.
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This stings . I love the flow of it , everything seems to just ease into each other . You write with depth of emotion and heart . I feel for this piece- lovely writing.
