fading
purple flowers
lie softly
plush
stitching
old
old
knees
and
infant fingers
s t r e t c h i n g
in jagged space
to smooth
incongruous
cheeks
like
paper
drawn with lines
and
finely
etched madness
in
eyes too full
of
sunlight dreaming

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Onward LOVE!
You passion
of storm
of seed
of sweet tremendous swell
of breast pressed fire chest!
You hot tornado
slung with heaven,
a bulging tempest of purple magnanimous explosion and thickly painted thrust!
OH LOVE,
making,
harnessing,
keening,
soul spoken,
twisting,
singing
and
weaving,
electricity VICTORIOUS!
Treat yourself to some spoken word> We Are Not Afraid by Thomas Keily

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All That Glitters Is Not Gold