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They fall . . . gold ,

         bronze . . . copper . . . and brass

Jeweled like glass

         'n emerald . . . ambered . . . and rubied

The days of my life

         fall autumned . . .

               sudden . . . and fast
 Apr 2015 lloyd britton
wordvango
it seems came her

adrift on mellow breezes
faintly scent o' strawberries

red dawn golden lashes  in rhythms
upon a meadow painted by
Emerson words and Van Gogh splashes

so lightly afoot
so not to spoil any of nature

listening
relaying

being
her.
Watching
an improbable
hummingbird
dart beneath
my deck,
I wonder
how being
without thinking
must feel.
Good,
I imagine.
- mce
Another Tennessee poem.
This time tomorrow
there will be no more tears,
and the warmth of your arms
will soften all fears
This time tomorrow,
I will lie awake in your embrace;
the warmth of your breath
on the soft of my face
I shall watch you sleep;
our arms and legs lovingly entwine
safe in your arms
knowing that you are all mine
This time tomorrow ...
Your smile lingering
longingly
like a gentle breeze
frolicking in trees
Your gaze entrancing
tempting, mesmerizing
engaging me in a lovers dance
The warmth of desire
from your smoky brown eyes
a duet of stars
sparkling in the skies
Your hands on my hips
the warmth of your lips
sensually intoxicating me
with your gentle sips
seducing my senses
with just a touch of you
 Apr 2015 lloyd britton
Tryst
Wouldst thou endure to fade like autumn gold,
To see thy treasures dulled in fading light,
To watch alone thy tarnished days unfold,
And pass a pauper into worthless night?
Who then will bring a wreath unto thy rest,
And keep thy garden flowered, as is thy wont?
The barren cross that lays above thy breast
Would bear thy name, yet bring to thee affront.
But if thou takes a servant to thy cause,
To tend thy garden and to do thy deeds,
And he would gift a son with no remorse
To tend to thee when his own strength accedes:
Thy treasure trove reflected in his gleaming
Would bring thee joy as thou is ever dreaming.
Inspired by Elizabeth Squires, in honor to the greatest of bards.
"It's not about seeing the fractals, it's about being the fractals."
Something a good friend of mine said, wide-eyed and full of wonder.
I knew right away that he was right. The others must be informed.

Tonight vaguely reminds me of Hunter S. Thompson. I can say no more.
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