I have written hundreds of poems in which I held your hand, kissed your scars, made your gullibility mine,
But would you live in a poem where you intertwine my fingers and let me place my head on your shoulder where my gullibility is accepted, would you love me the same way as I do while looking into your eyes and reading the sobs that you hide or will you make me calm when I am not able to gulp rage of tsunami inside so I cry, I cry, and when I'm the pieces of stained goblet mirror, will you celebrate me then as I do with the half crescent moon, will you wait for me each day as I wait for the buds to bloom!
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