There is not a love I call mine
As I age like fine wine in cork
So sweet, in cork so sweet;
Not a love I call mine.
This emptiness cuts me dry
As I feel more and by the side
I lie, by the wayside strewn,
My clothes all about;
There is not a love I call mine.
I feel fine but for a vaccum deep
As there is not a soul I call
Mine and weep; this love
That is whole is for me, myself;
Not a love I call mine.
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