The Dual faces of love

  surrounded in a cloud of light bluesleeping with warming visions of youtrailing through the vast desert for dayslicking yearning lips, as I am thinking of waysof indulging all your deepest desires, guarding my pacewhile gently caressing every square inch of your beautiful face The Dual Faces of Love seeking you among the red dunespromises […]

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Abused child

do not presume to know memy face a frowning mooncrevices of sadness besmeara hoary soul who wonders here wounds scab, heal and gazeas an eyeless void, she paintsno peak can lug the weightof a child begotten such a fate

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The cliffs of moher

leaves of many colors mingle to dispersea steaming bowl of porridge to feed the craving earthrain turns directions, as limestone clenches sea flowersour love flying with the peregrine falcons by the cliffs of moherusing night writing, molds of movement, on the blanket we once did share

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Loving the Rough Edges

Specks of dust glide in slow motion while a hypnotic dance performs within the light of the morning sun. Eyes dry filled with fairy dust, collecting their magic in a blue silk bag. Your strong arms, now stretching deliberately they pull my willing body close.  In the distance, a lawnmower is cutting nature’s carpet as […]

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Butterflies Bloom

tonight I whisperto the scarthat lolls uponmy shoulderyou are but amere fragmentof my flesh covering youwith star dustyour powerseveredonly an artlessreminder oferas past petals weavelove on frayedtraces of griefhummingbirdskiss my templeslove emergesa butterfly she flies awaydistance windssing her nameoh creatureof peacecome nowlet me love you

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God’s Armor

within vaporous evenings, I walk many placespeering at menacing eyes of half faces unmuzzled are voices that scream at the nightpeeling my skin in search of what’s right times resembling a tainted vicious algae bloomwicked demons escaping from their tomb the full armor of God is my comfort and shieldmy soul sanguine as a fertile […]

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Sunday’s Hay Field

  sadness is a raw wound wrapped in bandagesliving in the thought of a picnic without dancing antsa family carrying a basket with lost Sundays and sandwiches listening to the radio, pretending to dancebitter the old man who can no longer stand to eat corntoothless, he remembers the river swallowing a closing glance his son, […]

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