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 Feb 2022
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we slipped into sleep
this pure eye glimpsing
an eternal image fleeting
of your visage charms

a hint of your body's
fragrance in a dream
while thoughts roll like dice
in evening's forgetfulness

morning's ambiance, feelings
reaching over gentle breaths
of two lover's restful healing
sipped from river Lethe

-cec
 Jan 2022
William J Donovan
If we were strangers in bars
   I'd tell you things about me.
   Secrets nobody knows. Desires
   of confusion I don't understand.
   Women created in beauty's shadow
   like diamonds in a winter's sky,
   sparkle and shine like peacocks
   in my mind. If we were strangers.
 Nov 2021
Maria Mitea
it's unfair to hate the morning
- it's unfair to hate,
because
neither the new nor the old
after burning the night
this day does not return in vain,
this day is a good day to be: a leaf
scribbled by the blue of the sky,
green sprawling on the ground, the sea
turned upside down (steam hanging from the sky
mornings), - today i woke up
with all colors of mine caressing  the faint frost on the top of the grass,
dressing up for the winter, wood and smoke rodents,
- to lighten up  the agate eye
i did not  forget the summer flowers either,
colored dust and water
"holi diwali", smiles in clay lanterns, lost kiss in rangoli
- ah, darling,
do not forget,
this day is a good day to be your favorite color,  like
the color of the sky,  of the sun,  earth, or grass ...
Today has to be a lady
Blue eyes
Brown cinnamon locks caressing -
a floor length dress of forest green-
& umber ..
Soft moss beneath bare feet
Shadow black admirers traipse ,-
watch & gently mimic every move-
beside her ...

Today must be a lady
Warm undertones
Whispers that tickle the ear
Wood-line mannequins guard-
our periphery
Mirrored waters craving her reflection
Jays portend loves arrival
The blessed harbinger of the
new day revival ...
Copyright November 5 , 2021 by RandolphL Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Nov 2021
Carlo C Gomez
~
Sheltered within her cryochamber, the offspring of Armageddon dreams of play. She swims in an algal bloom that no longer stings like jellyfish. She floats on the surface of content, far removed from the synthetic sea and its plastic isles. She dwells in a bubble, but her mind hangs free as a halo, soaring with clouds. But these are not the skies that sense their own act of vandalism. This is the space and ceiling of a child's mind, in her capacity to absorb disturbance and rest her tiny, fragile hope in pretended, unclaimed worlds.
~
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