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*staring through heat wave shimmer baring to the sky thoughts unseen* 1. watching picking of peaches in drop-day sun rows and rows of others              neat aligning synchrony - laden baskets like well-oiled piston-joints 2. and when you think nobody looks                a sudden-bite into fleshy-soft ardour taste oh          of swollen heaven-fruit *oh ****** accordion-vision spilling of the unexpected                                (drip.. drip.. splash.. sink.. ) onto the collar of your cotton-blouse in slightly off-white splendour arms thrown up in harvest-fervour           a semi-circle of moist petal winks at me           from arm-pit labour a deep flush on cheeks as your locket-eye feels a touch unready finding my mild-gaze resting on your rubiest-lips ever seen 3. later it is sure a plumb-matching of that pretty furtive-stain will be rather fetching on your light-green peasant-frock hark now! the winds will howl in least protest and waves off southern-cliff coast where hardy-souls dare go will quite steadfast roar.. in unison *oh, ice-rains may fall and squalls may blow yet finest moment-dawning will be much like.. picking at the ripe-time* S T - 20 sept
0
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
picking at the ripe-time
*staring through heat wave shimmer baring to the sky thoughts unseen* 1. watching picking of peaches in drop-day sun rows and rows of others              neat aligning synchrony - laden baskets like well-oiled piston-joints 2. and when you think nobody looks                a sudden-bite into fleshy-soft ardour taste oh          of swollen heaven-fruit *oh ****** accordion-vision spilling of the unexpected                                (drip.. drip.. splash.. sink.. ) onto the collar of your cotton-blouse in slightly off-white splendour arms thrown up in harvest-fervour           a semi-circle of moist petal winks at me           from arm-pit labour a deep flush on cheeks as your locket-eye feels a touch unready finding my mild-gaze resting on your rubiest-lips ever seen 3. later it is sure a plumb-matching of that pretty furtive-stain will be rather fetching on your light-green peasant-frock hark now! the winds will howl in least protest and waves off southern-cliff coast where hardy-souls dare go will quite steadfast roar.. in unison *oh, ice-rains may fall and squalls may blow yet finest moment-dawning will be much like.. picking at the ripe-time* S T - 20 sept
bongiorno :) seasons go.. as they go.. round and round.. sub-entry: Black Star - Radiohead I get home from work and You're still standing in your dressing gown Well what am I to do? I know all the things around your head And what they do to you What are we coming to? What are we gonna do? Blame it on the black star Blame it on the falling sky Blame it on the satellite that beams me home The troubled words of a troubled mind I try to understand what is eating you I try to stay awake but its 58 hours since that I last slept with you What are we coming to? I just don't know anymore Blame it on the black star Blame it on the falling sky Blame it on the satellite that beams me home I get on the train and I just stand About now that I don't think of you I keep falling over I keep passing out when I see a face like you What am I coming to? I'm gonna melt down Blame it on the black star Blame it on the falling sky Blame it on the satellite that beams me home This is killing me This is killing me
st64
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Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
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