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A young woman who loved me spoke Welsh to me

Testing the system by re-posting as a blog the poem I tried this morning, to see if the system accommodates longer lines here in the blog facility. No, apparently not. Again the formatting is destroyed, and the desired spacing is negated. Sorry folks, this has been a short membership of Neopoet, but as I am unable to post my poetry here I will simply have to leave it at that.

A young woman who loved me spoke Welsh to me;

perhaps she was lying in her own language, but her
kisses felt like truth.

She held me as though I was the brightest pebble from
the river,

hard in her hand, close to her breast; she did not let
me go,

I fell by my own mass, by my own gravity, not back
into the river

but onto the dry, yellow ground where all I owned was

the little half-pit I made in the dust, and that
wasn’t really mine.

No more Welsh, no river-ripple, just deep-dull, lost,

heartbeatless, truthless sleep.


Marie before being hasty and leaving, as the site is so new I am sure a word or two with the newly elected and the owners may help overcome this problem, this is the feedback they need to see what has glitches within and needs fixing.

"The perfect woman perpetrates literature as she does a small sin: as an experiment, in passing, to see if anybody notices it - and to makes sure that somebody does." - Nietzsche

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