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348 · Apr 2016
Poedog Apr 2016
The breeze-kissed lake's ripples breathe silver.
A startled moonlight loon grasps the sky without a cry.

Never mind the moonlit leaves
while they fast until daybreak.
Poedog May 2016
I dip my work weary hand into the silver stream tresses
of your ever free, flowing locks;
and still thrill as they pass,
with silken grace,
through my parched fingers.

You raise your still wild lips and a smile spreads like dawn sunlight;
filling the valleys and crevices with light, then warmth.

We kiss.

"What was that for?"

For you.
For you.

Always, and forever.

For you.

— The End —