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The Same Sort of RoomsFor most of my life I've imagined being with someone who really understands me. Who envisions the same sort of rooms I like to live in. Now, in the drain of night, I'm wondering where that person might be? I have not seen her, have not met her, have not made love to her. Though you tell me you are that woman, I wonder why when I look into your eyes I see them looking past me Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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