Your face is so definite it can speak with no mouth. Though when your mouth talks, it converses with your eyes who respond with remarkable glances liquid up and down there are no vacant stairs, up or down. The staircases and rooms of your eyes are well fed, satisfied and busy with a thought for every life you might lead or could, accounting for every desert and rainforest, every empire, every sonnet for every, sweetheart I appreciate you.
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Child
And from my morphine stupor I heard noise from new lungs and saw small bones ensconced safely in warm soft skin. And a pair of eyes, the sweetest and most searching. Nursing her heat, gentle innocence feeling something so immeasurable and lovely and pure that I had little idea what to do. All light was effervescent and all sound musical and now all year would be a Sunday morning in June. |
Poetry, Prose and MusingsThis page is dedicated to my own work. Here I will post all of the poems and creative writing pieces that I also post on my blog. Archives
September 2017
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