| Desertification Did you have to run so fast, on long legs (what are you, an ostrich), flee before I could properly fall in love with you? I suppose any sensible man would do the very same� still, you left me with only the tightly closed bud of infatuation, struggling to bloom within the dry desert of my mind; I have only the memory of your face to water it; can't let it die for all that I want to. love poems anonymous |