looking out of my window

at my writing desk

once i’ve recovered of

getting-up to conscious


but still with cobwebs of


determines to a great deal

the mood i’m entering the

new day in my later life.

quiet sunday morn’s are

not adverse to a poet’s

striving for reporting about

his state of longing

as yet – 

he constantly longs for a


he once felt being close

to his heart/ both/

aesthetically and mentally

related in the choice of

elective affinity/

it’s a natural gift of conscious


finding a potential soulmate

isn’t it?




One thought on “soulmate

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