Bukowski’s words.

Every night, we lied on the bed with the sheets covering our naked bodies like new born infants; She would rest her shapely head on the left side of my chest, just to please her hearing with the sound of my pulse. I read her a poem or two — Bukowski’s words.

If I never see you again
I will always carry you
On my fingertips
And at brain edges
And in centers
Of what I am of
What remains
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