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It's funny how
lack of sleep will hit you.
It's six in the morning,
and I,
I'll tear up at almost anything now.
All sense of sanity
hindered by delirium
but I think of you.
Maybe I'm insane,
maybe I'm delusional,
but at six in the morning,
I still love you.
Every single time
I am blessed
By the opportunity
To be in
The very same
Room as you
I am breathless
For a moment
Because how could
I not be
You are absolutely
Magnificent and wondrous
You are a
Never ending adventure
And really, genuinely,
I love you
You complete me
And I couldn't
Be any luckier
I couldn't have
Personally hand crafted
Any better sort
Of best friend
 Jul 2016 Vanessa Grace
Corvus
It's OK not to be inspired.
You can look at a sunset
Without seeing the colours as smudges of chalk
On the divine, stretched-out canvas of sky.
And you don't have to write everything down,
Because not everything has to be permanent.
Some things only last for as long as you remember them,
And it doesn't make them any less special
Just because they weren't written down or spoken life into.
Existing is art, and creating something
That no-one ever gets to hear is still art.
You're a poet even when you're not rushing to your notebook
Before the words fall through your fingers, slippery with desperation,
Motivation, inspiration for the next poem.
So slow down, because if you forget your masterpiece
Because you were enjoying a careless moment of misplaced inspiration,
Who cares? Even if no-one saw it, you know you created an awesome poem.
Yes, I did write a poem about how people don't have to always write poems.
Her pale porcelain skin scorched my mind
its imprint was all I could see
Such innocent hidden behind a jaded mind
Such beauty underneath

Her immaculate body longing to be smeared by my finger tips
Holding her close, keeping her safe, in suspended bliss
SAFETY it was found that night, right between her legs
Like trees aching for light, stretched to the sky, she begs

Inquiring on journeys before embark
her imprint was left on me
seeing  beauty in every cut and every mark
Such artistry to be seen    
  
I could deal with near pitch black, as long as there was enough light to dance, and glisten off her angelic eyes
SAFETY it was found that night, right between her thighs
Because my poems led you to a
D i s b e l i e f ,
When it meant to bring you
*C l o s e r   t o   m e .
See her when she is walking
Even when she feels like sulking

Listen when she is talking
Even when she feels like crying

Behold her when she is trying
Even when she  gives up thriving

Through the heart, her laughter courses
And soothes like angelic choruses

Her weeping and souring
Bring down the rain pouring

Ain't no sunshine zone
When she's gone

When she's around
Everything becomes sound

She's beautiful in every form
See her elegant in any storm

Adorable in pregnancy and childbirth
Remarkable in storms and in mirth

She is more than her thighs
And even more than her sighs

She is more than her hips
She is more than her lips

She is woman, she is goddess
Happy Women's Month South Africa
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