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Feb 2016
.
blue clouds drift lazily
across variegated hues
of aubergine skies

shapeless shades of dark purple
open brilliant framed portals,
urging thoughts
beyond a feeble ray
of dappled light
upon sensual fusion

softly caressing
twilight adorned canvas,
the way moonlight
basks upon
freckled skin

brushing intimate flesh tones
perched atop a swinging star;
sketching the moment
a pink moon’s ebbing tableau

breathless sighs surrendered
in an intimate circadian rhythm,
our mingled moon shadows'
cadence unleashed

glow drops glistening
like heirloom diamond tiara constellations
swimming naked
between the jealous stars



*wild is the wind
traces of being
Written by
traces of being  I really have no name
(I really have no name)   
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