pomegranate tea and ginger root;
dry, internal deserts; Romanian undercurrents, gods & glory.
let the Redeemed say so!
sunshine, underbrush, a woman’s
measure, consciousness, sweet heaving, more courage; myriad chills, sitting
stillness, to have seen a feeling: acrylic, glitter, mind tetherball.
in debating with self, it comes to
pass, most are too absorbed by one element, one dream, one dreading.
the coastal soul, her airs, his
motion; so again with sexuality, the way souls saturate life, by the gifts we
share.
so tentative … so much déjàvu … to
want in terror the ghost inside, to pledge vows to her alone: emotion in
sulfur, intellect in ice patches, our faces adding up to our visions.
the forest has your scent—by grandiosity
we go astray—and by deep effacement, we live the deaths.
without boundaries—is love shared,
statuesque romance, fevered sexuality, any thing in essence, to have died
unsatiated.
in desperate needs—to have
addiction to soul, to spirit—to achieve what seldom lives.
absorbed like quicksand, seeping
into us, engulfed—it sounds needy, insecure, or everything we desire in one
decent outcome.
to hear cursing, wailing, the
Aveeno ran out. to compose like musicians—to drown in poetry, annunciating each
syllable;
if sophisticated, give grace; if a
pianist, fly, soar—if woman, teach our young ladies.
