I never have gone from the place I loved you.
Actually, since then, I sculpt you in heretic poems
with air and without air in my lungs.
Like a cylinder, my sentiments are rolling for being
materialized in my written and unwritten desires.
I never have gone from the place I loved you.
I feel you in my head, shoulders, knees, and toes.
Would you like it to be true again, to call you back?
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