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Kewayne Wadley Jun 2021
She sprawled out across the sky, bored,
Perfectly sun-kissed.
From a distance she could fit
In my hands.
Day, the name we hold dearest
Day, the name of the memory I placed
her above all else.
I too, lay sprawled out, beneath her.
The intensity of how she makes me
feel,
A region I know well, sweltered &
swollen,
Without walls or halls to contain the
effect she has on me.
She took my hand & gave me the gift of
her presence.
My heart but a burning bush from this
intense percussion, this rapid sensation spreading steadily, rapidly.
A giant in my eyes.
I've climbed the highest building &
collapsed beneath her.
Black & wilted,
I am the wick without promise of
tomorrow
Ankita Gupta Apr 2019
Sunburnt skins and moonkissed hearts, Pouring rains and heel-clicking walks.

Rough edged pages and unplayed tracks,
Carved pumpkins and ever burning lamps.

Unkept hair and pretty sundress,
Cold meal and unheld hands.
Julie Grenness Dec 2016
We love our sunburnt Christmas,
Hot for Christmas Day, no less,
Maybe a hint of eucalyptus,
Good old Australian Christmas,
We pray for a peaceful day,
The slow news Christmas way,
Encircle the world in a Christmas embrace,
Hot for Christmas, no less,
Yes, we do  love our sunburnt Christmas!
Feedback welcome.

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