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Harvesting The One…

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Clutching At straws, berries ripe on your skin

Plucked succulence

Adored so very be, our sin

Clawing

Adoringly, so much lust felt within

Sweet rapture

Enriching our minds

Complete capture

As we seek, so we find

From one kiss, one word, pure bliss seemingly absurd

Yet It will be

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Swanning Around The Subject…

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Kiss me,

swan around on our lake

Upon fluid rippled shore

May our bliss be so real,

ne’er fake

Slow flow,

so liquid in nature

So lucid our fate,

sensually to sate,

pure In deep,

two as one,

lust delivers

We reap the new…

so now, come hither…

A Serenity Whore…

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I am a serenity whore

Come indulge me, be unfazed In this window within, unglazed

With your deep sensuality

We could reach impure parity

Eclectic therapy in pared thought

Esoteric in sincerity of sin sought

…and so to sow so much more?

Into The Library of Yearning and Learning…

 

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In The Library

Oh for the library of old

sweet silence and chilled so cold

high ceiling’d rooms

musty old tomes

an irrelevance of fashion

pure inventories of passion…

so many words to discover

idyllic beauty within a cover

turn a page, become sage

flick a picture, ‘tween the scriptures

of life never-ending

imagination all descending

sifting through, uplifting views

a novel or reference

all treated with true deference

to hold, to love, to treasure

words spill, heart filled, with pleasure

caressing a volume, intensely consumed

return again to be resumed

with the beauty of words

and not a sound to be heard

except intellectual collation

gasps of joy or frustration

filed with the need to read

filled with yearning for learning

fulfilled yet not sate

the stamped return date

emboldens, the books you’re holding

to treasure at leisure

spanned in your hands

that volume of expression

ideas or confession

many hours of reaction, satisfaction

sensations in relaxation

with a book

pages to turn

so look

and learn…..

 

Lost souls… a comfort

 

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We are all lost souls

in our own reality

and comfort seems a distant hand

where to touch a heart is disparate

from the moment…

finding the way

knowing what and when

to say

to reach out and touch

all that we need so much

and in the solitude of the moment

is the time…

to recollect and resolve, to be bold

to gather, grasp and behold

all that is proffered untold

but intimated behind a shy veil

of innocence, in a sense

hidden behind words that are meant to be said

covered in the words that we simply read

look behind the lines and find

the heart the beats

in time… with your own …

implicity in simplicity

so obvious but never seen

a deleted scene from the film of life

therefore, I implore

pick it up from the cutting room floor

relive the drama, find karma, find the one…

 

 

Sweet Peace…

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Merry Dancers in this Fox’s Fire

011 (3)Meery

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