<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=493206" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sometimes I Wonder</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">at this moment, when i begin to write again<br>another set of poems</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(i stop for a while, away from official matters<br>this business of the mind thinking<br>clearly and logically, setting aside premises<br>and dogmas and <br>theorems, not wanting any proof of my sanity<br>and reasonableness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i relax a bit, on some matters of the heart<br>the emotions all colored wildly like a dream<br>a wet dream, to be specific....</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sometimes i ask, if i can still write about<br>libido, the wanton directionless cravings of the thighs<br>and the caprices of the fingers...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i get lost with reason and i become as firm as an<br>iron rod, shunning feelings, oh, how do i like to be a rock? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is sad to be numb. I detest when this happens<br>as a matter of everyday business, and i become tense</div><div style="margin:10px 0">if at all, i have ceased to be human, or if i have changed<br>myself suddenly to be nothing but a cabinet or a desk<br>or a mess in front of my eyes...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i daydream, once i was a young man, once i was so carefree<br>that was the time when poetry was vibrating like a<br>man's flesh between my legs...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i miss the river and the baths and the fish swimming under my belly.<br>i miss the songs of the frogs, how they prayed for rain and how<br>the celebrate when it comes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i miss the summer months of April and May when love was as<br>abundant as bees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I miss you. Your gaze burns me.<br>Your kiss makes me feel so alive.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">thinking about you, yes, about love in abundance, and then<br>oh, the ecstasy of words.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i have written, i shall speak, when you return.<br>I have written the happy poem, tell me when</div><div style="margin:10px 0">shall i write it again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=493206" data-title="Sometimes I Wonder de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="at this moment, when i begin to write again another set of poems (i stop for a while, away from official matters this business of the mind thinking clearly and logically, setting aside premises and dogmas and theorems, not wanting any proof of m..."></div> </div> </div>

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