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Dean Jones Jun 2010
I think of the singular adventure that has been love.
I think of the countless deaths that are still to follow.
Each touch of a breast will be the precise means
of my undoing.
Each taste a parable for the heart
Each kiss the truth of  illusion
Dean Jones Jun 2010
And the conversation turned
toward us
and  I thought
of the secret that wasn’t in
your eyes and of
magic and the tongue of
candle flame mocked  and
  taunted us and said

‘with one breath you can ******* out’                                              (15/10/89)
Dean Jones Jun 2010
thursday
my coffees gone
I attached a smile from a stranger
my world
it opens as I
yet it holds reserve that I
also hold
It sends my thoughts
without reason straight to
the heart of us both
Thursday
I sit within my hour
all compact and generous to each minute
I  sit motionless all revered
Thursday
have I come to love you yet?
perhaps not
but lets see how you behave today
Dean Jones Jun 2010
My mind dances a whirlwind
but my face, ah my face - displays my infinity
...................

the movement is inward.The rhythm of my dreams intensity echos my
laughter. For the clouds are quite beautiful
and your eyes are exceedingly dark

...................

I follow the curve
an image closes the distance
for unknown; in your movement I become a perfect song

....................

The street of missing persons
Its so quiet here
so peaceful

and the future rushes towards me with astonishing speed

....................
These words are copyrighted! any unauthorised use is seriously frowned upon and may result in the author throwing a tantrum (just a little one)
Dean Jones Jun 2010
winter snuck in; thief-in-the-night like, when we were all sleeping.
Woke to the cold and blanketing grey,
clouds that hold fast,
time and countenance,
the morning flowing with hidden wishes, those dangerous dreams;
assassin deadly to our comfort.

as the wind, and the world one color,
seems to blow thru.
phantoms and mind , our holding reserve.

the day unfolds. The hours burn secretly, my hearts beat.
This hour unfolds me.
Your love burns secretly, distance and time who's grasp cannot hold our depth.
This moment unfolds, perhaps, as it should.
As I burn for those yet to come.
Dean Jones Jun 2010
I will steal my own words
afterall, once written,
                they belong to the world.

and ; as it was; I write this for you across distance and separations.

I write this for me; to say, to any who would hear
       I love because of the fear....

— The End —