(Dedicated to L.L.)
Walls separate us.
Strange spider webs.
But I often fly, gaunt in my sinking
Hand wringing room, a bleeding chirping twit.
If only you were there.
I am so murdered.
Frida.
To Frida
Alfred Lichtenstein
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Poem topics: room, strange, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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