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In All the World

There’s only one you

Francis David
2 min readOct 6, 2024
ID 4726663 © Alan Dyck | Dreamstime.com

In All the World

I tend to walk around with a lot of insistence, dear Asha, that you should love me, and I don’t know what its origin is but I’m willing to discuss it the next time we dine.

I try not to broadcast it — but here I am again walking this poem out in the early morning when the air is clean.

Let me take a stab at it, at understanding where this denial of the truth comes from.

I sigh when I see a jewel on the hand of some woman in the front row, it makes me restless to tell it.

I feel like I’m a reasonable man! Sure, I’m filled with concern, but I think that can also be an asset, maybe even get me into heaven.

My love is automatic, and if it were a buffet, I would probably overeat, and maybe even stuff something to go in my pocket.

I want to get revolutionary with you, turn my weakness into a proud statue made of plaster, greased by the stroke of a genius’ eye.

It’s no crime to find you in the material, looking at your body creates all kinds of stimulation.

Light the owl at night I know I hunt you — your core is a place I hope to remain all summer.

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Francis David
Francis David

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