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at the furthest
                        reach from me,

somewhere on the other side
                        of these lucid hills,

a box of sun has been

cut into manageable

and given to all the young
                        dreaming denizens,

to blow with all
                         they have

inside their strong little
                               ­     up,
into the sky,

circulating light
                          until it dawns as us all.
Windsong breeze
Playing to the tune of migration
Flight of the Arctic tern
Pushing the boundaries
For greater hemispheres
Internal clocks sound a message though
It is indeed time to go
To wing forth in formation
As they were designed to do
Their wanderlust tempered
By an annual returning

I woke up from a nightmare
I could not stand to keep
to myself

you were stretched across the couch
coffee going cold on the table
a half finished cigarette
still burning

you wrapped me up
in kind words that
I could not bare
to hear

whispered into my ear
"one day we will go wandering
and this tiny house will overspill
with dreams'

you are not your memories, darling
you are not the bad things
that have been done to you
you are a fierce flame
that warms my heart

forget them, my love
they are nothing
and you, and you
are everything
he swallows me in his arms at night
and wears me when he’s most vulnerable
In honor,
I clothe him
unbeknownst to him
while he sleeps
the angels and I meet
and we celebrate him
Oh, wild things
laughing and blushing
devouring that warm
delicious champagne breeze

That fever and desire
it is sacred

Kiss me he said
And she did
I can hear
Them playing,
The devil inside
from the carnival
down the street.
All the bleak
eyes wandering
through the
empty crowd,
looking for
love or dope;
something to change
their perception.
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