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Ridges and whorls of his minute moonscape
rises over the desert of her belly
threatening reign.

Once she has landed this small,
yet hostile, satellite
all is lost,
found.

Her ridges and whorls envelope
his, the great expanse
of stars,
the claustrophobic universe
ubiquitous.

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3 Comments
LeBrozLeBrozover 16 years ago
~~

I've got to go with that first comment, an excellent poem<br>

but<br>

{oh no, not the <b>but</b>}<br>

I think that the previous comment meant that for subject/verb agreement the word should be <i>rise</i> in line 2 and<br>

that extra 'e' changes a verb {envelop} into a noun {envelope} — I should know, I've done that myself!<br>

AnonymousAnonymousover 16 years ago
Lovely again

as usual. Would my so latent touch be superglued onto that silken surface. BTW, I think it should be "rises" in line two ("Ridges and whorls" is the subject).

champagne1982champagne1982over 16 years ago
Landscape

From an image you need to magnify a hundred times to capture nuance, you've built a tactile world. Holding hands made large. Excellent poem.

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