Tuesday, 1 July 2014

She is still a tonic




          
































                          
She does to me things                         
She doesn’t want others
To know, learn or spy.            
She does to me things             
That her man mustn’t know.   
She accepted, when intercepted          
On her way, my papers about her.      
Isn’t it itself a proof of her love?        
It itself will serve me as tonic.            
27.08.2004

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