Poems, so weak and thin,
Strained efforts to free the within.
The within so deep, but yearning to emerge
Unable to ride the common words.
The within - illusive; sensed, but not.
Chest tight, sigh deep, then aught.
And you are there, within the within.
By poems I search your place therein.
My senses speak of the naught that is
And your presence within that unseen-ness.
Your fragrance, your voice, your touch, your eyes
Your lips, the taste of passionate sighs.
O that I could a word devise
To call to the depths the within to arise
To show itself, the naught that is
And your presence within that unseen-ness.
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