When you look at me, <br />My painful thinking stops and turns into tears. <br />Your unsaid words are still waiting, <br />Uttered to be expressed, <br />By cramming into palate. <br />I know them all, <br />As you know your fingers, <br />Which, apparently, touches me tenderly, <br />While they send me the thrill of separation. <br /> <br /><a href='http: //www.myfreecopyright.com/registered_mcn/CA5NT_XDS47_M4UQ9' title='MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected' ><img src='http: //storage.myfreecopyright.com/mfc_protected.png' alt='MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected' title='MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected' width='145px' height='38px' border='0'/></a><br /><br />Marieta Maglas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/state-of-wakefulness/
