the shape of your body, forever pressed into my mind
the taste of your tongue, so sweet and all mine

the flowers of your fingers, touching my body
the ring of your laughter, swelling all around me

singing into my ears, your melody enlightens me
to the reality of your kiss, and the fire of your security

you are the one place I feel at home, the one thing I can count on
to always be there, always listen, the memory I love

the new ones being created, the old ones being embraced
the wonderful things I've always wanted, now just a breath away

When a heart shatters
And you glue it back together
Piece by piece
It will never be the same
No matter how hard you try
Visible cracks are left behind

An elderly , regional dame in a pretty lavender and white flannel coat checks her mailbox with the help of a metallic walker ... Her yard remains meticulously coifed and maintained just like the persnickety , perfect hairstyle she's worn for the last fifteen years ...
A stunning , curled cotton mane with impeccable , multi -colored dresses for church on Wednesday and Sunday , the Queen of a small town in middle , rural Georgia ..
Her castle is a sixties period brick ranch with beautiful Hostas and Tulips on all four corners ... Cherokee roses and Azaleas , Honey Locust and well kept Concord Grape arbors ..
A gas light stands guard by the front door , her prized chihuahua patrols the front of the estate from a kitchen window ..
On Spring days she waves from her white rocker on the front porch ..
Early Summer mornings she can be found tending her flowers , giving the grass a brief shower , reading her Bible beneath the carport and chatting with family and friends on the telephone ....

Echoes of life-ruined tempos,
Lightning flashes, retrospect
Ghostly trees keen, peeking
Beyond thick fog enclosing.

Nimbus clouds hanging,
Icy blood dripping,
Ashes blown turned
C-C-ryptic voice singing:

"   Don't worry,  worry,           -worry.
                Someone's coming for ya . . .   "

Spine-slithered doubts.
Is it redemption
Or DEATH
En-route?

Brittle steps.
Metal-casted ground, rakes
Cringing sound.
"    Scythe? . . .   "

Stumbled in fear,
Wallowed in self pity,
What an evil daydream?!

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle of blackest tallow
And flame of brightest white
I follow my nature
My gravitation
Without question

Godless and lawless
Out of the wild I came
Still wet and trembling
Hairless and bared to all
I lived off the fruit of the land
And open to the sky
As is the way of my kind

What did I know of fences?
Or of lines on a map
All I saw was plenty for all
I knew nothing of money
I knew only being fed and being hungry
So they called me thief
They called me savage

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle dripping tallow
And flame of dimmest red
With hesitation I follow
Stumbling and lost no doubt
Yet still I follow

                              By Phil Roberts