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when i last met her
her ******* were bursting with seeds
her thighs plump as stems of plantain
and when in the December sun
she dried her hair behind the acacia
i dreamed of lying with her on the grass
drunk in the moaning song from her navel
till the evening drove us cold and old
and darkness stole her flesh from my eyes
and it's almost December again
as she walks with my hands in her
along the field after crop
just tugging my hand once to stop
delicately drawing from her breast
an Agfa snap of two unreal people
in the most unlikely place
looking awestruck into the lens
passing into the evening light
before leaving me halfway
of her cottage and a home.
She's the type of precious flower
That grows well,
And thrives,
In nature's sacred rich earth,

Each new blessed morning
She reaches out to the sunslight -
She knows its energy is responsible
For her daily blessed rebirth.

She's the type of precious flower
That grows to her full potential
After a heavy rain,

She can handle the wild winds -
She can handle a little roughness,
And a little bit of pain.

She's the type of precious flower
Who does not compete,
Or compare herself,
With any other flower,

She knows her worth,
And she is comfortable
Being herself -
This is her special superpower.

She's the type of precious flower
That possesses a rare uniqueness -
An original beauty,
Inside and out,

She prides herself
In living for the joy of life,
She is grateful
For the simplicities in life -
And for being blessed
With the gift of life;
For being chosen to sprout.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Even with 218 miles between us,
I still feel your lips on mine
And your hand
On the small of my back.
Your whisper travels highways
To flutter softly in my ears
And I can see your eyes twinkle,
The two brightest stars in my sky.
Even with 218 miles between us
I still feel your heart beat,
In perfect time with mine.
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