Tyler Knott Gregson says you’re welcome feels so much more honest…

Is it an apology I owe,
a head lowered soft spoken
soliloquy
of some saturated sincerity
for the roughness of these hands,
of this voice, and the words
it speaks?
There’s no other way
of being, no other me
than this.
If it’s I’m Sorry
I owe, I’ll say it, proudly,
but I don’t think it is,
I really don’t think
it is.
You’re Welcome,
feels so much more
honest.”

– Tyler Knott Gregson

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Tyler Knott Gregson says I will worship your skin like a born again believer…

Part those sheets
like holy waters

and I
will worship your skin
like a born again
believer.”

– Tyler Knott Gregson

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Tyler Knott Gregson says you have my most favorite face…

I just think
you should know

that out of all,
in all the
world,
You
have my most favorite
face.”

– Tyler Knott Gregson

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Sturgill Simpson sings just know in your heart…

 

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Joe Cocker sings it’s hard to love her well…

 

 

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Alexsey Tolstoy says e’en now I pine for thee with old-time passion…

Believe me not, dear, when in hours of anguish
I say my love for thee exists no more.
At ebb of tide, think not the sea is faithless;
It will return with love unto the shore.

E’en now I pine for thee with old-time passion,
And place my freedom in thy hands once more.
Already, with loud noise, the waves are hasting
Back from afar to the beloved shore.

– Alexsey Tolstoy, Loves Ebb And Flow

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Alexander Pushkin says I rage at myself for this obsession…

 

“I love you – I love you, e’en as I
Rage at myself for this obsession,
And as I make my shamed confession,
Despairing at your feet I lie.
I know, I know – It ill becomes me,
I am too old, time to be wise …
But how? … This love – it overcomes me,
A sickness this in passion’s guise.
When you are near I’m filled with sadness,
When far, I yawn, for life’s a bore.
I must pour out this love, this madness,
There’s nothing that I long for more!
When your shirts rustle, when, my angel,
Your girlish voice I hear, when your
Light step sounds in the parlour – strangely,
I turn confused, perturbed, unsure.
Your frown – and I’m in pain, I languish;
You smile – and joy defeats distress;
My one reward for a day’s anguish
Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss.
When you sit, bent over your sewing,
Your eyes cast down and fine curls blowing.
About your face, with tenderness
I like childlike watch, my heart o’erflowing
With love, in my gaze a caress.
Shall I my jealousy and yearning
Describe, my bitterness and woe
When by yourself on some bleak morning
Off on a distant walk you go,
Or with another spend the evening
And, with him near, the piano play,
Or for Opochka leave, or, grieving
Weep and in silence, pass the day?
Alina! Pray relent have mercy!
I dare not ask for love – with all
My many sins, both great and small,
I am perhaps of love unworthy!
But if feigned love, if you would
Pretend, you’d easily deceive me,
For happily would I, believe me,
Deceive myself if but I could!

– Alexander Pushkin, Confession

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