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Your eyes look like risk,
but still- to have a look,
I'd give almost anything,
to read a chapter of that book,

A **** secret walking
engulfed mystery,
I hear your story talking,
an in your history,

I know that I should know you
I don't know if I should love,
I feel you are a gift though,
an sent from up above,

I want to kiss an touch you
deeper than the night,
come to me and take me,
I won't put up a fight,

I know you too-
you want me,
I feel it as you brush,
I wish to kiss an love you,
your lips are oh so lush,

Please my teasing boy,
tell me what you want,
because when you're not here now,
my skin is what you haunt


Ma Cherie© 2017
Can't I have you? ;/ ugh...sorry still away...
As a child years seemed to take decades to pass, as if I was stuck in some time loop watching the same years over and over...
And now years seem to bloom and fade away in mere seconds and there is as much fear as excitement in not knowing how much time I have until I have taken my last breath
And love is different now... I worry less about the concept of dying alone and fear a day I might not love as deeply as yesterday or might find a day I love someone less than the last because in all truth that wouldn't feel like love at all
I want my last breath to have and hold the chaos and insanity only found in the brief moments of madness that make time stand still so that it may witness the only thing more infinite than itself is love and that love is endless and is always growing deeper and reaching wider in our every breath from our first to our last and it is the one thing death dare not take from us but rather that in the kiss of death as as our bodies are reclaimed back to fire and wind and earth
we find our hearts immortal as death gives our souls back to love
The  tulips  lift
there
smiling  faces
To  the  afternoon  sun.

­Keith  Wilson  Windermere  UK  2017.
10  words.
The poetic mind
Can only be studied
In an observational
Capacity

Any attempt
Of measurement
Would surely
Effect the out come
Resulting in a chaotic
Reaction

It appears
Sub poetic particles
Prefer to remain
Unobserved
In their natural order
...
Traveler Tim
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