Much Like A Toothache - Poem by Irina Minaeva
Your lanky figure at my door,
Bright eyes and spilling hair...
Can all it be the reason for
My joy and black despair?
You were so quick to disappear
I could make nothing out.
You've power over me — it's queer,
But there's not any doubt.
I can't change anything, but still
I wish it were not so.
A strange sensation: warmth and thrill.
Much like a toothache, though.
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