our silence comes easy
and there is much to it
the commingling of our fingers
and the swapping of palm oils
and the nimble saltation of fingertips
it says so much.
and yet you stare at my neck
and say that my throat is the
home of a chorus of birds
and such harmonies never allow
for secrets.
Monday, August 15, 2011
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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wide-eyed and curious, he peeks from his shell with seaweed speckles, where 8 monarch butterflies landed permanently. he puts his footing on...
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there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
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I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot...
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At age 25 for Sir John Donne Down went San Felipe. Crimson and pale, rippling, clinging to it's mist. Oh, how that flagship hurled itsel...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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Private Edgar Perry for Edgar Allen Poe I reported for duty, a Bostonian, surly, moody, unsteady. Twenty and two, not eighteen, Yes, twenty ...
This is gorgeous - so sensual and still at the same time. Love it.
ReplyDeleteFrom tactile to the abstract; what a wonderful relationship.
ReplyDeletethanks! ;)
ReplyDeleteWhat did he mean by that? (kidding) Lovely writing! I enjoyed this one very much.
ReplyDeleteHere's my offering for Potluck 48: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/the-lake/
smart one.
ReplyDeletelove the message behind.