I've found that one's devotion to a significant other is directly proportional to how much one writes.
I have to confess something
(Please don't think me insane)
But when you're near the words just flow
From my pen, like the water
Drip-dropping on my window pane.
It's such a new, strange feeling,
I've never been so inspired.
My hand glides across the page
Though I'm hungry and I'm tired
Oh well, it's not unpleasant,
To have so much to say.
Maybe you could stay and listen?
Would that be OK?
Aidan Clevinger's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Inspired by Aidan Clevinger )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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