Ganga

A sonnet of sorts

If only love was simpler than it is

I find myself to mourn the emptiness

Of heart of soul how cold the Cupid’s tricks

To fill my mind of hope to hold her breast

If things were meant to be it seems I’ve missed

To reach my goal to reach on out to her

Our bodies seem to be awaiting bliss

Although we both do hold to lovers worse

At least I like to think as such of us

And when we are together may not come

I’d love us two to spiral all as one

Embracing bodies smoothly not of lust

Alas my lover comes not yet to me

I confess delusions may well be

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