Personal · Prose · Thoughts

The Obscure Writer Who Never Loved Me, or, The Deep Valley

there was a man
who I didn’t know
but who wrote so beautifully
so compellingly
that tasting his words on my tongue
seemed to me, more intimate than being naked
and I wonder whether I will know it
through the cracks of my broken language
when he dies.

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4 thoughts on “The Obscure Writer Who Never Loved Me, or, The Deep Valley

  1. It has always seemed to me that if you could express your essence in words, and someone loved those words perhaps that connection could be the truest form of love. Of course we live in the real world where warts interfere. Your poem was very strong.

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