snippets from a rainy evening, renamed through the pages

In bed at night,
alone,
husbandless
for the week,
reading another
man’s poetry
makes me feel
oddly close to
the poet.

His desire for
connection and
depth of soul
are clear.

Need comes
through the pages
and I think to myself
it’s a good thing there
are so many miles
between his door
and mine.

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