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The sweet trapeze
of our kiss,
the hoarse hush
of the crowd,
and the forward
roll of the drums:
lingering in
mid-air, we know
that the safety-net's
been stowed.
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The sweet trapeze
of our kiss,
the hoarse hush
of the crowd,
and the forward
roll of the drums:
lingering in
mid-air, we know
that the safety-net's
been stowed.
From Love Poems
© 2023 Bill Greenwell