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love poem: results 1–12 of 12

My Husband Is Out of Town  by NANCY DEVINE

treasure our mouths

not just for gold under our tongues

but for silly raptures they accidentally exclaim…

Heart, we will forget him,  by EMILY DICKINSON

Heart, we will forget him,

   You and I, tonight!

You must forget the warmth he gave,

   I will forget the light.

I've got an arrow here;  by EMILY DICKINSON

I've got an arrow here;

      Loving the hand that sent it,

I the dart revere.

I Am Not Yours  by SARA TEASDALE

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out

My senses, leave me deaf and blind,

Swept by the tempest of your love…

A Valentine to My Wife  by EUGENE FIELD

What though these years of ours be fleeting?

What though the years of youth be flown?

I'll mock old Tempus with repeating,

"I love my love and her alone!"

To My Dear and Loving Husband  by ANNE BRADSTREET

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

Only If  by DELANA DAMERON

if the salt-cured ham glazed

with honey is no longer


my sweet sweat on your

tongue and your fingertips


forget journeys along my

forever hips

After a Day of Silence  by MIMI MCDONALD

5 January 2007
Vol. 6, No. 4
poetry

You are

there, behind that full


moon, in another state

in another hour. If I were

to tell you that my need…

Garden  by PAUL GUEST

5 November 2006
Vol. 6, No. 3
poetry

The language of the daisy isn't dead

but one hundred seeds in a pack

are dormant in their dry dark, some

dirt and water all you'll need…

Broken Sonnet to the Building Super  by ASH BOWEN

Mr. Fix-It, you're no passkey Schneider,

eager to put your key in my Julie.

Oh, but say the word, my big star lucky —

I'll curtsey like a love-hungry spider.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love  by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

Come live with me and be my Love…

Forget-Me-Nots  by CYNTHIA MARIE

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
poetry

Open on the desk Kafka

                                        is flying in his little bucket

     the drops of ink he spilled while becoming aloft

form the profile of a woman's swan neck…

 

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