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Part 1: Fallen in Love at First Sight

She couldn't believe it. As soon as their eyes met across the crowded room, she felt a jolt of electricity run through her body. It was as though time stood still as she gazed into his deep, soulful eyes. Her heart was racing, and she couldn't shake the feeling that this was something special.

Without thinking, she found herself walking towards him, drawn by an invisible force that she couldn't resist. As she got closer, she noticed the way he smiled at her, as if he had been waiting for her all along. It was then that she knew - she had fallen in love at first sight.

They talked for hours, completely lost in each other's company. It was like they had known each other for a lifetime, and yet they had just met. As the night came to a close, he took her hand and whispered softly, "I think I've fallen for you too."

And in that moment, she knew that this was the beginning of something truly magical. She had never believed in love at first sight before, but now she knew that it was real - because she had experienced it firsthand. And she couldn't wait to see where this new, unexpected love would take them.

              Part 2: Got really drunk

And she couldn't wait to see where this new, unexpected love would take them. Got really drunk.
As the night went on, they laughed and danced, getting lost in the music and each other's company. The alcohol flowed freely, and before they knew it, they were both feeling the effects.
But instead of feeling embarrassed or ashamed, they found themselves opening up to each other in ways they never had before.

Their conversations turned deep and meaningful, sharing their hopes, fears, and dreams with one another. They realized that the connection they shared wasn't just physical, but emotional and spiritual as well. It was a bond that went beyond simple attraction, and they both knew that this was something special.

As the sun began to rise, they found themselves sitting on a park bench, holding hands and watching the world wake up around them. And in that moment, they both knew that this unexpected love was something worth pursuing, no matter where it may lead them.

               Part 3: *** It Was

They had both been hesitant at first, unsure of what this new development meant for their relationship. But as their bodies intertwined and their passion ignited, they both realized that this physical connection only deepened their emotional bond. It was a raw, primal expression of their love for each other, a wav to communicate without words.

As their lips met in a passionate kiss, the intensity of their desire for each other was palpable. Clothes were shed, inhibitions were cast aside, and they became lost in each other's touch. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present and the raw, unbridled connection they shared. It was a night flames of desire that burned between them.

And as they lay tangled in each other's arms, breathless and spent, they both knew that this unexpected love was something worth fighting for. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they were willing to face them together, united in their pursuit of a love that defied all expectations.

To be continuedโ€ฆ

๐’ฒ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“‰ ๐“‚โ„ด๐“‡โ„ฏ ๐Ÿ™ˆ๐Ÿฅ€๐Ÿฅ‚

๐’ฎ๐’พโ„Š๐“ƒโ„ฏ๐’น~ ๐’ซ๐“Ž๐“‰ ๐’ฆ๐’พฬจ๐“€๐’พฬจ
๊จ„โžถ๏ธŽโˆž๏ธŽ๏ธŽ
โ„›โ„ฏ๐’ถ๐’น ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“€โ„ฏ ๐“Žโ„ด๐“Š๐“‡ ๐“‰๐’พ๐“‚โ„ฏ ๐Ÿ˜ตโ€๐Ÿ’ซ๐Ÿคญ
๐Ÿฅ‚
๐’ฒ๐“‡๐’พ๐“‰๐“‰โ„ฏ๐“ƒ: ๐’ฎโ„ฏ๐“… 20, 2025
Quiet calls my name from the clouds.
I lost my wings,
a deafening reality.
Quiet calls my name from the clouds.
Just a poem about longing for solitude or peace.
And if you look
Hard enough
Into tomorrow
You will see the
Future,
I will create.

Not out of hope.

Not out of love.

But out of persistence
In failure
And the strength
Of disobedience.

I am not a ray of light.

I am
A
Cataclysm.
Flowers do wilt and die
It seems pointless, yes
But have you seen a bud?
Open its sleepy eyes to the dawn

As if a young child was letting out a yawn
With petals for hands reaching out to open skies
And the sun smiled at it
Telling it to open its arms without worry
whispers the stubbly face of the old grandpa,
or I'll blow fierce little airs all over your rigidly
pretending-to-be-asleeping cute little facey,
then tickle your kissable little
lips
and make farty noises
for the rest of the day

she, irresistibly, bursts out laughing
like the roaring lioness she be,
whose cubs might be threatened,
and laughingly squeals, oh poppy!
it's all your fault, you grumpy old poet,
you made me put the *** in my
peej's!

and how his son,
the father,
on permanent overwatch,
growls below annoyingly,
"great,
now we'll be late,"
and
threatens to tell the
attractive single second grade teacher,
upon whom
he has a semi-secret crushing,

to which
we two devils scream out,
"oh please, oh please"
knowing she will find it quite
charming, and maybe even him,
tooing,
the single attractive father-man
who, could be ripe for a
twoing
><
and poppy twinkles,
thinking that no
matter what you
call it,
that thing,
is all-around and
in~between us while
he changes the young lady's
sheeting
the leafless tree branches.
clouds drift in the pale sky
and the deer leave footprints
in the snow

and all flowers fade,
so, throw the dead flowers
across my grave

and with time
winter's wounds will heal
so spring can follow
when the river sheds its skin of ice
and the deer footprints turn to mud

and the earth forgets the cold.
sunlight kisses, the flowers sigh,
tulips bruised red,
for-get-me nots whisper,
daffodils linger.

the sunrise whispers anew
and trembling in sunlight
the green leaves wave

as the wind dances with newborn flowers
that for tell of the Grace.

O, my wild garden.
no more death please, for a little while
Stacked green crates by the futon,
records quiet as buried letters,
each sleeve longing
to be drawn out into daylight
by her small, thoughtful hands.

I just want to play that Nick Cave again
teenagerโ€™s resolve in her voice,
she drops the needle on "Tupelo",
traces Peter Murphy with her thumb,
holds Kate Bush to the light
like stained glass.

She laughs
at the ****** box on the speaker.
I tell her itโ€™s never going to happen.
She grins, unbothered,
says she only came for the vinyl.

I watch her tilt each sleeve,
never touching the grooves,
brush the dust,
lay the needle like a secret,
slide the disc back without a wrinkle.
Each time Iโ€™m surprised
by her precision.
Itโ€™s the third time
sheโ€™s dropped by.

She makes mixtapes.
Pressing pause, pressing record,
stitching songs into a spine of hiss.
Once, to me, or to herself,
she said her father wanted a tape.
Sheโ€™d mail it when he had
somewhere to send it.

She follows me across the bridge,
talking about her brother,
an ex-best friend,
mimicking her professor,
how he wags his tongue
when he writes on the chalkboard.

I haul a duffel:
apron, uniform, boots heavy with grease.
She skips in the rain,
strumming cables, humming
the last song played, still floating.

I unlock the door,
steeped in garlic and kitchen sweat,
boots leaving grime on the boards.
She isnโ€™t there-
only the crates, stacked neater,
jackets squared, spines aligned,
as if her care was meant for me.
The room settles with her absence,
yet holds me upright
in its small, thoughtful hands.
From the Corpus Christi Journals (1993).
Was it you who called me?
The message never played.
Another year is passing,
your letter never came.

On the step you pulled me close,
your skin was cool with rain.
You crossed the line I dared not touch,
complicit all the same.

They warned me love was treason,
they burned my home, my name.
I slept there in the ashes;
your letter never came.

Now I kneel in silence,
your picture in the frame.
You asked for proof I loved you-
the letter never came.
the night whispers the black water fall of ashes
that bloom into the sparrows of sorrow...


the sorrow sparrows are back again
sitting in the tangled woods of twisted trees.

Van Gogh heard their voices
bouncing off love's walls.

the sorrow sparrows are leaning into me.
my sad eyes, dream of you brother.

I lean into the soft lit room
searching for love's quiet hours,
with sunlight flickering through willow trees.

"don't cry, darlin," my wife whispers.
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