Drinking with Gypsies

I believe I may be a gypsy…I was always quite fond of leaving town…I usually love a bit too deeply…see it’s you whom I really don’t want to love, but it’s also you who decides to sit cross-legged at my campfire…and you just smile at how I embrace my old painted mug…you call me cunning…so I say goodnight. Oh, I like to fall asleep in my skirts.

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Filed under -Letters to Louise-, Poetry...

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