The Cheek Poem by Stephen Harris
The Cheek
The cheek that bore
some slaps in youth.
That bloodied bearer
of skin shorn wounds
that grew whiskers
now gone grey
Has also borne
sweet lovers lips
the gentle stroke
of fingertips.
Moist memories
of your tender kiss
remain today
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/14/2024 8:36:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
