If I were you, I would know,
that I loved you too
For how could I not love my beau?
If you were me, you would see
Would you not?
For clearly we weren't meant to be.
But the truth was so obscure
I was mistaken thinking we would endure,
You were the ocean, and I , of the shores, a part
We would meet, and again drift apart.
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I was thinking, perhaps a twisted one?
Clearly, it didn't work out.
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Poetry#14 on 8 March 2017 Poetry, Prose. Words bled from the very soul. Musings of an occasional poetess. 'Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words. It is an abstract art, and I am, but a mere artist ' - Edgar Allan Poe ©wordalmaniac 2016