Each time you go
leaving me to my self,
no rain falls
to wash the pain off the window.
I spend each day sitting by the pane:
me, and ink-scarred papers;
Poetry becomes no more than nothing
each time you go.
leaving me to my self,
no rain falls
to wash the pain off the window.
I spend each day sitting by the pane:
me, and ink-scarred papers;
Poetry becomes no more than nothing
each time you go.
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