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If skeptic
How can one be
So decent
So blissful

Look at her, closer

Her way
Her moves
Answers the all

She is
A work of precious art
Who breathe
Who  inspires

You don’t need to be a writer
You don’t need to be a poet
Whoever you are

She has something
Alluring, magical charm
What makes you
Something to say

She is the dream
And the reality
That, She is
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: She is no other than, the hope
Gabriel burnS Dec 2018
Flame-eyes
Reach out
To the moth-heart
A silver
oar in
her pant
that must
ignore her
very thought
of amphibian  
forecast in
amorphously quaint
****** yer
attire bare
crest this
ingénue while
robust if
enigmatic and
sinecure features
are superfluous
A man of economy
I'd bring
with my
spoon a
cherry whether
a shubunkin
in the
lagoon but
with a
knife would
bait my
hook if
fished such
lure with
the moon
till darkness
fell on
entry there
a fish and a bait hook
To touch your lips before dawn stretches across our skin
Similar to The Creation of Adam

On the eve of your departure

Where whimsical scripts meet sacrosanct words
Wrapping themselves around your tongue
And ripple like kaftans when sung

We hold these truths to be self-evident
And your vision is honest

I refuse suffering your absence amongst the hunger I feel
Cooking up a plan to capture your heart
A pinch of your perspiration's salt
The kiwi sweetness in your sway

Even if you appear in my dreams, although miles away
It's the best homecoming yet.


Ifeanyi N. Okoro II - © 2018
IPM Mar 2018
You're too cruel, you're too
cruel,
your allure makes me endure
the fires of **** and the winter's
cold.
I let it mold me.
Dustin Dean Jan 2018
Your ****** paints the blood in my cheek
And your soul is what makes it real
Illuminated by the pangs of idealism
We share this burden's parallelism
But our youthful expenses
Are priceless and uncharted
By the most daring
So let me show you
The way to the bay
To open entries
Of foreign milieus today
Look into my eyes
Under your hair
You're already there
Snehith Kumbla Jan 2018
never fails to set
the heart into a
run

when with her
molten fingers she
tames her hair

into a bun
a snapper hedge lore
and bet in vicissitudes
that little wife arise up
but a purse string prize
here in the piazza today
that change in her suit
a bra fit
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