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Click hereI do not remember where we are
Scattered like leaves
that still hold their autumn colors,
I gather you up and bind our stems;
wear your wreath like a crown.
Is there anything better
than a poet, my lover?
Answers weave a yarn
that binds us while we sleep.
In the morning, twisted braids
of spring weathered words
bud and blossom around our ankles.
braided, weathered words. a clear, and haunting image, yet one with hope. glad to see you back posting, seattle-rain, ive missed your elusive, erotic self :)
this is wonderful, SR! Such beautiful play with its own solution. I am not bothered by the wreath/crown image.
Fly
NO - there is nothing better than a poet because a poet is love sensitive and you can't beat that! A lovely poem that only proves My point. <smile>
Vixxx
and i have fallen victim to these two lines as they are sooooo wonderful:
Is there anything better
than a poet, my lover?
*****
nice job!!........don
Nice work here.. very visual and enticing in the lace of a dream..or is that reality?...
ty
du~
mentioned in the sunday reviews..