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  Feb 2018 naǧí
Elizabeth Squires
a grey dove now coos
on the deep cream painted fence
neath a light cloud sky
  Feb 2018 naǧí
Hector
~

You cradle me between legs gently

on milky skin a contrast shade

of passion penned in winter schemes,

your pelvic heat radiating wants

with urges flowing in a cascade

of loose desires-

I give you words,

you give me dreams-

I give you love,

you give me words,

but words like chants

bewitch my dreams,

if with a spell I could persuade

under my wings

for you to stay…

Would you let go and just be mine

and not confine

yourself to dreams?


-
H.O
-
“She was fascinated with words. To her, words were things of beauty, each like a magical powder or potion that could be combined with other words to create powerful spells”
- Dean Koontz -
  Feb 2018 naǧí
Pagan Paul
.
I could kiss you through the words of a rhyme,
letters delivered with tender exquisite affection,
each syllable a moisture drop on delicate lips,
velvet verse licking porcelain, tasting perfection.

Stanzas saturated with the metaphors of love,
dripping salaciously upon your excited sighs,
I kiss your lips through the words of a rhyme
as they glisten like a jewel between your thighs.



© Pagan Paul (20/02/18)
.
  Feb 2018 naǧí
Sjr1000
When peace finally comes
A softness in the winds
The fires are gone
The quiet has come
Except for the nightbirds
which sing their songs

The shadows get long
Children's egos disintegrate
Meltdowns fry the atmosphere

The skunks come out

Moonlight after twilight
Sometimes to linger
Call out to the coyotes

Get old but stay young.
  Feb 2018 naǧí
Mygreatestescape
What beast do I dare speak of now?
the one that rocked in cradles,
that lived in the spines
of my bed,
that held me,
and drove
me to a bloodless
pyre,
the one who lived in the
realms of my mind,
the one I called "god"
driving my intellect
to the marrows of sleep,
dreaming of dreams,
staring at ceilings
and lions that grew
from the ashes on the moon,
should I drown my innocence
with my lost convictions,
should I tell it
to come tomorrow,
to let it rest in the corners
of my mind?
And in these monsters
lived sounds
that drowned
the world,
and in it lived
the screaming of heaven,
for is it not fitting
to dream of a Utopian prison
when dreaming of
a pitiful God?

And yet I dare dream
of sinuous apple trees,
and acid rain,
to have my words
rest in your throat,
in your eyes,
for what is it
like to feel truly alive?

Monsters that run like
water,
crowding in the streets,
eyes that made us dread
to be in our skin,
to peel off our
anatomy,
to die and to
imagine death in
solitude,
I know only of
what is left,
not right.
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
- William Blake (The Tyger)
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