I'd walk her home after work
buying roses and talking of Bechsteins.
She was full of soul.
Her small room was gorged with heat
...
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Sounds like a dull hot sweaty day alone in a room with someone else. I think I would rather be elsewhere by myself with someone still breathing... I can do this style of inverting sub-titling poetry too! I'd rate this poem but guess what?
My, my, my- -It is really tiresome that I and perhaps you cannot rate poems anymore because some messed up computer thingee can only respond to a vote by demanding we sign in again and again and again. Really getting tiresome. Neither can I track down the comments that notifications to my e-mail tell me about.