Charles Bukowski

poems:

15

for jane

225 days under grass and you know more than I. They have long taken your blood, you are a dry stick in a basket. Is this how it works? In this room the hours of love still make shadows. When you left you took almost everything. I kneel in the nights before tigers that will not let me be. What you were will not happen again. The tigers have found me and I do not care.

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