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Click hereEre the wind blows slow and tempting,
I sit by the brook listening to its babble
and that soft caress on my cheek
that tendril of thought
easing
into the skeins of My body
when does the liver unfurl
will My tongue taste
will He ever fruition those desires
The cup of stones
That beacon of light
slithers
into her soul,
washes her brow and
her little smiles
etched in silver and gold
light up the sky
But once again when the laughter bubbles over
does the cry of the bespoken ring asunder,
will she walk with Him
in darkness and dread
the slow steps she takes
will their fervour
forever wither and gasp
a Fish out of its element
gaping and retching
the sigh of the shell as
the surges of the seas rise
above all
ring forth and take
Hold fast unto yours as others will claim
She offered finally
slowly
Yet He never took
The yellow bird wonders why