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Desert pond,
       idle sun.

Salt, shadow,
       and the revealing light of midday.

She traipses from
the safety of the car
        to the danger at the water's edge.

One hand shielding her eyes,
the other,
        her over-exposures.

Discomfited by a lack
         of self-confidence.

Loving the water,
         hating her thighs.

I dreamt it snowed
Nectar and powdered sugar,
Dusting nature's lips.

I recall the kiss from her
Not-so-innocent curiosity,
Come-hither in her arched brow.

How the morning breeze
Grew wanton,
Lifting her nightdress,
Until naked she pirouetted about
The cloister garth.

I dreamt of flowering moonlight
And his potent stem,
Filling her
With stars and shivers,
As she burst, for goodness sake,
From all the little blissful parties
Drumming her garden wall.

I dreamt of fecundity
And funnel cakes,
Soft and sweet and round,
Her milk a spring,
Laden with gift of life.

Intuitive opaque areolae,
The shape of things to come,
The very ones from which
She'll nurse their young.
To the amazing wonder that is a woman's body
How time
Eats away at our words
Like kernels of discontent
Tossed about
And taken by caustic birds
On the qui vive
Feeding off our book
Of broken pieces
A crooked line
Connecting then and now
Never quite achieving the connection
That would build a bridge
To somewhere over there
And make a path
To what could be a better sometime.
Time moves quickly or sometimes slow. No matter how it comes, it always goes.
A failed quest.
Continued silence.
Brewing resentment.
Romance with life ends.
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