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The asphalt shimmers in the summer heat,
Mirages dance where the sky meets land.
I count the mile markers like rosary beads,
Each one a prayer, a breath, a memory of you.

I turn left and right,
Take detours through cities made of glass,
And mountain passes where stars guard the twilight;
As your magnetic force pulls me forward.

I've worn holes in my shoes,
And collected dust from a thousand roads,
But distance is insignificant
When every horizon holds your face.

Sometimes I wonder if roads ever end,
Or simply circle back to their beginnings,
Like my thoughts always return
To our first hello and that first smile.

My legs tire but I never waver,
You are both my journey and destination,
The map I follow and the home I seek,
And the reason that I keep going.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Today, I
put a full stop
at the end
of an on-going
poem,

the sad part was
that I thought it will
bleed beyond it,

but all it asked for
as a light mentioning
in pages,

I had to refuse
so I added another
full-stop..
Mosquitoes are
Pesky, little blood suckers
Aren't the ones meant to be eating tonight?!
They weren't on the invite list,
But alas, they crashed the party
And gave me more love bites
Than I bargained for.
They outnumbered the guests,
And at my behest, I shut the party down.
I heard ‘Pink!’ protest: “Nooo, get the party (re)started!”
So, I did spray, lavishly, a perfume of aeroguard,
but all that did was send shards of poison
in the air and me gasping.
O mosquito, this is no ode to you,
But an antidote to the hot air, mine
and sister summer.
I spend my morning,
Sipping coffee (no surprise there),
gnawing breakfast (in bed), 
while reading poetry.
It is still.
As I scroll seeds 
Of insight from others' experiences,
Vulnerabilities and creativity.
I could be in Paris or Milan, 
Or in the Kimberleys;
I am transported with each line.
Inspiration poured into mine
soul. I feel I've lived a thousand lives
With every verse believed.
Relieved though, I'm safe at home, 
And the life I'm walking is my own.
How many of my poems feature coffee?! I must write a poetry book to go on my coffee table!
Awkward and lanky,

not a boy and not yet a man.

Youth, litheness; potential

and yet, still teachable.
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