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our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine
As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts
This may well be my last poem here.
Don't speak harshly,
Your words will form swords in me

Touch my cheek; speak gently,
And they will form worlds in me
 Mar 2021 Brittany Chalmers
the moths ate holes
in the silk of my hands
your touch falls through them
like black volcanic sand
little arrow falls
nightly compass guides your route
be still and breathe dear
when ever soft love
graces the ground of this mind
sweet rest so happy
If you want to go--
Please, do not take my heart too!
I have only one.
Indonesia, 7th February 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
 Feb 2021 Brittany Chalmers
feed me slices of apple cut with your penknife
under the old barren tree
twist your fingers in my hair, unkempt

lick at the trailing juices from my lip
travel south on my neck
smile into my flesh, huff my heady scent

grip me tighter, escape, venture inside
pour illicit prayers
in my mouth with foreheads pressed

glide through the path of the garden
lush in my summer prime
take all that I have and give in to temptation


propels the eye
to see

what it could not see

in dreams.

the cave


some lifetimes
most lifetimes

cannot widen its mouth.

to step out
to stretch wide
to feel the grass
and the sand

leaves one
with no other option

but to use one's own feet

to stand.

the walls of support are gone.
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