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Can you talk without having
the thought of the one
which supposes of listening to you?
Doesn’t feel as if the value of your voice
puts in difficulty the brain?
And how to read the magic of stars,
when for doing this you should gaze
in the eyes of the one you love?
I wonder while I’m imagining
those enigmatic and so daring lips
of the one which knows to listen to
the words of the songs, of the one
which doesn’t push me to talk but
is watching just all that wants to hear,
the one that reads me, knowing
on what side of the syllables
I’m sleeping and how many words
I’m breathing, while the coffee is
dulcified with my poetic thrill served
at a pub known the blue cafe, a place
YaYaYa, somewhere on the milky-way
where I led you for I know what it’s like

Chris Rea │ RyX │ Jeff Tweedy

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