Musing, I sit here.
    Wondering, remembering your past
    as you’ve told it to me in hours of easy yarning.
    You look so young, asleep, wandering your memories
        beyond my touch.
    Do you know how my eyes explore you,
    watch for hours? How my breath clutches
    your step at the door?
    Do you know that thoughts of you,
    silent dreams and yearnings,
    are easily taking over my mind?
    You said that men are romantic,
   women are practical and strong.
    I don’t feel strong or practical,
    just dreamy, and slowly

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