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Love Song

My hunger is to move you.
The thought of not touching,
jostling, derailing you,
is like the thought of taking
no meat, no bread, no beans,
until the day I die;

though I would rather starve
than see you lose your way,
I long for you to swerve,
the way a falcon leans
on the changed will of the sky.


by Amos J. Hunt

This poem first ran in the Midsummer 2007 edition of Grub Street Grackle

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