Unpredictable accidents

​Where does this
noise come from?
Drifting in the wind
and in the spring rain.
And covered by its love.

This is all that
counts for me now.
The noise, your lips,
your eyes and the rest
of your body and soul.

My first real existence
for such a long time.
A poets quest and
a poets desire.
Yet to be completed.


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