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I First Met
Her
I first met her
Strolling,
Through some
Of my lines,
A book of Neruda
Under her arm,
Humming a tune
From The Cure,
Sweet and sassy
She was, though
Unlucky with love,
For reasons I’m
Not really sure,
She came to me
Then, as at times
She still does,
But I don’t believe
She remembers,
When deep in the
Still and depths
Of the night,
She arrives
Unannounced
And rides me
Into her soul.
Stephen Nesbitt © .
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