Shooting Stars - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Sometimes, you ramble on,
I turn my head to you
so that all sounds received
come only through the left,
from which they pass inside
and take up residence
where kinesthetics live,
and then, as sudden as they came
they sound like kisses from your lips
that have turned into golden shooting stars.
And I awake from lethargy to be
a catcher leaping high.
I cannot bear for even one to go astray.
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