"beth" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Addiction *****
It's such a killer
Addictions fun
A raging thriller
Weathers its a bag of twack
Or a fat green sack
It doesn't really matter
You could shoot pancake batter
**** or ****
*** with Beth
Just remember its not fiction
That disease you have is called addiction
See it works in such a horrid way
It controls you'r thoughts and what you say
And when it comes down to the end of the day
You probably going to do what it takes to pay
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
Ruddy's was the place to be on Wednesday nights, cheap drinks, free hotdogs and the graceful presence of Times Square hookers late at night, what a wonderful scene, marines hookers and the best jazz juke box inn manhattan, rowdy and something almost always happened, better than life. I was a young man in a strange country, had my fists tested in FLA and Brooklyn for stupid prejudices on my behalf and others, words hurt only those who do not know their meaning and root. There was a black man sitting next to me, quiet and still, a true barfly, he turned and said;
- you are not from round here-
- no - I said -I am from Mexico -
- you don't look Mexican, but let's go with it, I don't look African American either-
- r you from the south?-
-Georgia, as they call it -
-well, I've worked in FLA and met some rednecks, Cubans, blacks, but almost no Chinese-
-you mean yellow-
-or *******
- or **** you know men, I prefer racism down south, over there the distinction is cut loose clear, we don't like each other, but here, men I tell you, you wannanother beer?-
-sure men-
-Girls just wanna **** you cause I'm black, you know, to be cool and ****
-yeah, Jewish girls wanna **** white Gentiles, different reasons same goal-
-I hear you, here it's all about being fashionable, but deep in the pit it's all fake as a 10 dollar coin-
We kept at it until Beth started a fight with another ****** they were calling each other **** I've never heard.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
She wants to become a girl again,
After two divorces, three kids and
pieces of heart blended
into the uneven daily affairs.
She wishes to be innocent once more.
To see the sky through her amber eyes;
To laugh carelessly down a penniless neighborhood;
To recollect the fragrant things she holds dear.
Where is the Anne of Green Gables?
Where is the Alice in Wonderland?
Where are Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy?
Where did the flowers go to die.
She tells me she misses all the sunrise,
Gazing into a blue sunset,
The cooking that tastes no longer loving,
The perfume that smells no longer happy,
The loneliness that is no longer heroic.
She carries on, with her broken wings,
and the birth of a woman's concrete essence.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 1:28 PM UTC
yaad kar lena mujhe
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yaad kar lena mujhe tum
yaad me aa jaunga.
Baat karni ** to kehna
Khwab me aa jaunga.
Manzilo ki duri he
Or to koi duri nahi.
Tum badhaogi kadam
To me sath me aajaunga.
Muskurati rahogi to
Me bhi muskuraunga.
Udaas jo ** kar beth ***
To me kuch nahi kar paunga.
Yaad kar lena mujhe tum
Yaad me aajaunga.
Baat jo karni ** to kehna
Me khwab me aajaunga.
Me khwab me aajaunga.
Nk —
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
Finally this Mint Assembly is Complete
As the Last Great Angel will sure confirm
Eight Gold Aureoles from Best Moments replete
A Standing Ovation his Spirit burns
See now, Prince of the Plym! And Testify
How they shared Lives to fertilise your Growth
There was no Contract; Only Hearts abide
Reminding you the Cradle of your Birth
Now you, Sweet Divine, to your Future's spout
Kindly live yourself well for Dream's extract
Know my Prayers stand as Friends throughout
Yet a Friend-on-Purpose I dress intact.
Eight Best Friends. Eight Blessed Souls I give Breath:
Kate. Dil. Jess. Beck. Lauren. Kat. Alice. Beth.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
the priest, whose tomato face looked like it might explode under collar tension,
gave the valedictory at the friday night execution
the yellow-toothed, combover'd serial killer buckled in electric chair
kept staring at the door, expecting an ally to crawl in late but not too late
the mother of one of the victims rattled on about
how she didn't care that the killer had an allergy to the anesthetic used
in lethal injection he's going to die either way what's it matter?
buzz of fly crack of rolled program against empty folding chair
(yes, there were programs, and whoever laid them out knew their typography)
buzz of fly raised upward, toward the black, magma-cooled ceiling
audience chin up, pupils circled fly as the priest droned on
about everlasting life like a Paul Simon song from his youth
like a catcher's mitt from his youth like a youth from his youth
the boyfriend of one of the mothers of one of the victims
said he was hungry pancakes sound good, don't they?
I love it when syrup gets on the bacon, you know? love that.
a pudgy guard with bleary eyes and 12 a.m. shadow
rolled his index finger lowered his brow, telling the
priest to wrap it up so the priest wrapped it up
by reading the names of the victims
Tara Barnes, 17, Rachel Lythe, 10, Julie McPherson, 13,
Serenity Strongman, 15, and Mary Beth Williamson, 13
the priest said something about judgement as
the boyfriend of the mother of one of the victims
took another swat at the fly missed
any last words? the priest asked
where's James? the killer asked, he was supposed to be here
did you guys give him the right time?
the guard nodded to a lab coat by a black box
then a hiss then a hum then an inhale
the first jolt of alternating current for
instantaneous brain death
hard to tell if they succeeded in that
for the second jolt came only a moment
later this shock's aim to fatally damage
the internal organs, overstimulate the heart
and the killer's face looked like a horse's leg
then an exhale then a hum then a hiss
and the killer's face looked like the crinkled
skinmemory of a cicada
it was late most of the best restaurants already closed
but we could go to that diner off 63rd, the boyfriend
of the mother
of one of the victims, said
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
You sit there and take pictures of me,
The winter air chills our breaths
You Laugh. I laugh. I feel a small spark of what I called happiness.
It's absolutely freezing.
Come on, the high today is nine degrease.
But for some reason I don't feel so cold
as the Ice blues my skin and snow infests my bones.
Your infectious laugh carries over to me.
"Uh, Beth, I think I broke the camera!"
I know you didn't, of course, but I still rush over.
I pity the way I can't stupidly giggle.
or be anything resembling a teenage girl.
the strange thing is you don't seem to mind.
You stand too close as I fix the glitch.
You smell like Cinnamon, apples and warmth
too bad I'm like the anti-teen so I just stand there awkwardly
Your brown eyes capture mine and I resume my duty of fixing the camera
You run out of film.
I frown. We walk back.
We don't talk after that.
You do this every month or so, I never expect it
I want to Hit myself afterwards.
Taunt me, tease me, leave me confused
You are another cruel reminder of my living little nightmare.
Until Next time, My brown eyed "Friend"
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.
When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.
He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.
He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 12:33 PM UTC
"don't grow up too fast
you still have time
to be a child"
you say to me
The difference between us
is that you wish to be a child
whereas I
never want to be one again
your childhood
was playing foursquare
and lava monster
and avoiding the cheese-touch
with your three best friends
my childhood
was being kept out of foursquare
ignored by the lava monster
and being the untouchable object
in my class's game of "Beth-touch"
your childhood
was a playful push and poke
with your classmates
my childhood
was getting my front tooth chipped
and being pushed off of the monkey bars
your childhood
was seeing your parents argue
then make up
my childhood
was hearing shouting upstairs
and seeing my parents sitting apart silently for hours afterward
your childhood
was hoping your mother's flu got better
my childhood
was my mom falling and twisting her arm
on the way to a meeting with the principal
hard enough that her hand still isn't the same size
your childhood
was learning weird new things
through rumors, friends, and what you could find
my childhood
was being left in the dark
on all but the basics
your childhood
was fun elementary school trends
like lunchables, messenger bags, and chocolate calculators
my childhood
was having a different style
and having no common interests with the other kids
your childhood
was a playful time of learning
that you wish to return to
my childhood
was the role of the playground's pariah
and I'm never going back
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
i
This is for thou both miss Vicki, and miss Beth Stclair, true poet's
Miss Beth StClair, thy sonnet style, brings back the old smile I see;
Miss Vicki, writing of love so quickly, so beautifully inspiring
Miss beth, thy word's got me flying I'll buyeth thy book real soon.
ii
Miss Vicki, thou art an old soul made of gold, a home amongst homes, as thou liveth in mine state, miss beth, I'd seeith thee if I go to England, amongst the Beatle street's we'll speaketh of ourn living's, and reciteth sonnet's of Shakespearian knowledge.
iii
Miss Vicki, thy jargon is wrapped like a bouquet, glazed with honey, thine words art displayed, people in this world like Thee I do prayeth, that thine life wilt be joyful, and harmonious in thy tommorrow, beth, I feeleth thine wild's, as the sixties thou hadst.
iv
Beth StClair, if it was back in the day, we'd be wonderful friend's, thou wouldst hath watched me on a stage, singing poetic thunder, miss Vicki, when thou feeleth down and under, continue to write thy creator in thy works, and I promise thou both, thou both hath
A friend in me......
©Brandon nagley
©Miss Vicki/miss Beth StClair dedication for both of you (:::::
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.
When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.
He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries, here comes
the plow.
He began to see
the pattern of life.
There are monsters
that walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 12:53 PM UTC
Am crying heena ji
Uparo meeh pe reha
uparo gaane ewe de lage hoye ne
sala sab kuch yaad ayi janda
te u nu apne kol na dekh ke
jaan nikli ja rahi
kai dina to me jaan buj ke nai c likh reha kuj
but aj control nai hoea
life pata nai ki ban ke reh *** he
ewe lagda jiwe kuch matlb hi nai he is life da
office jao, ghar aao. Ghar wali naal bi dil ni krda chal nal gal karan da
even oh bi ro lai, ki tuci menu pyar nai krde
oh is krke roi ki usnu lagda kite me chad na dawa us nu thuhade krde
usnu thuhade to bada dar lagda he
thuhade naam to bada dar lagda he
but me fas gea ha
parso sari raat roi gea me.
ghar wali us time so rahi c
menu pata oh raat kiwe langi meri
*** koi value hi nai rakhda ***
bilkul dil nai krda
sala mausam ewe da ban gea ki
rona a gea
Thuhade husband nal dekhea c u nu.
Soh lage, maran da dil kar reha c.
dil kr reha c ki gaddi mara kite le jake
fer tuci 7 phase wali market chale gaye
uthe tuci mehndi lagwai
te me uthi wait kr reha c thuhadi
sach kaha me has jarur reha c
but andro ro reha c
thuhanu dikhana nai c chanda ki
me thuhanu dekh lea he
menu nai pata ki tuci menu dekhea ya nai
but mera koi motive nai c apni shakal
dikhan da thuhanu
Le lao badle heena ji
chup reh ke jeena bada okha he
me bi dekhda ha kinni der
chup beth sakde ** tuci
kinni patients he thuhade wich
me bi dekha.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 5:57 AM UTC
There is a faded headstone
I walk past every day
I've never stopped to read it
least not until today
The names are hard to make out
and the numbers just a blur
There's not very much to tell you
just who these people were
It seem they were a couple
Mary-Beth and John
She passed away aged 38
He died at 41
I imagine childhood sweethearts
who didn't live that long
A short but long lived love affair
that in death still lingers on
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 6:01 PM UTC
Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Warming her pearls, her *******
gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.
Published by Erosha, The Eclectic Muse, Muse Apprentice Guild, Nisqually Delta Review, Erbacce, Poetry Life & Times and Brief Poems. Keywords/Tags: warming, pearls, necklace, ******* belly, rotund, Rubens, Rubenesque, **** painting, art, bath, bathing, seductive, sensuous, baroque, full-figured
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 3:37 AM UTC
rock smashes scissors
break our swords
Scissors cut paper
tear up our poetry
paper covers rock.
shielded by policy
we have our voices.
all rock, all scissor, all paper.
all spock, all lizard
we do not play games, we Speak.
We throw spock hands like Gang signs
spit parsel tongue at pride haters
we write love letters to revolution
We cut red tape with our long fuzes
Hit rock bottom, more bass in our
Voices than god knows what to do with
So we tell him exactlly where it should go.
Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock
They hold their pens like scissors
carving history books into erasure poems
We would swing our pens like swords.
But no leader we trust has been elected yet.
We would have a leader to guide us
But snakeoil salesmen plague our trenches.
There would be no snakeoil salesmen if
we had a stable government
We would have a stable government
but the stability was sharpied out of our history books.
And To history, loud voices sound
like the fires of god.
And are we not the voices with more bass then God knows what to do with.
without words on the wind,
There is no flame
so aren't we fire.
We all have tealights waiting in cold oven hearts.
stone hearths begging for Ignition
eager for bootleg promises of warmth
The orange rhetoric of our future
no warmer than tinders logo.
or a video recording of a fireplace
flickering on a flatscreen at best buy.
We are distracted constantly.
misdirected by Houses of paper cards
origami swans we don't dare unfold
Staying ignorant of the tire track liner inside.
origami swans are so much more beautiful
when they have secrets, right?
I have a matchstick
watch me strike it lit
flare this paper swan into a pheonix.
And hold it in my fist.
there will be fire.
and it will not be a metaphor
But It will be a revolution
And it will be a pheonix
and the pheonix WILL be a metaphor
The Rabbi at Temple Beth El
said when a mans consumed by gods fire
it is a severance from faith, a spiritual death.
what have we done
if not lost faith in our government?
Been consumed by the fires of god.
and why not tattoo pheonix feathers
on our backs?
at least this death gave us warmth.
a home in the world's ashes.
I stared at the dragons fire that stormed towards me
thanked it for the oppurtunity
to walk out of this world
holding dragons eggs
Like Daneris Tygareon
and they will be real dragons.
incubated by REAL fire
despite this crumbling cataclysm
you call a great america.
Spock handed Lizards larger and louder
with all the rocks
paper and scissors they need
to set the world on fire.
To Finally see something beautiful be born.
A Home that keeps them warm.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
Dear Joan,
My Mom,
Our Mom,
Our grandmother,
Our Great Grand Mom,
Dear Mom.
My mother dear when ever you hold me
all the things that hurt me are gone.
My mother.
when I needed you
you are always there
somehow when you held me
all thing bad are no longer there
like when I fell and hurt my head
on the garden gate
remember waking up
and you are there kissing all
the bad things alway from my head.
Dear Joan our mother dear,
Where have you gone
I am at a loss to know
where are you
when I need you now
Mother you must always know
we will always love you
as you did so much us.
R.I.P. With Love Joan our mother so dear to us.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
Peter got a sandwich for you.
mama went shopping ,
Gabriel needs a carwash,
Cristen choked on his ***** ,
Iris sailed the oceans,
Blake died of ennui.
Martha blew her neighbour,
Adrian stole her *******
Beth went out of liquor,
Walter cooked a new batch.
Marla is a ******
Gambit dealt a new pack.
And so and so they pass by
All these million names.
Who cares to blink twice
At a facecless face?
And then came eh...! wry dry, Dont **** Me, " ... " I can't even
Say his name.
It's like this name
Blew my heart out with a shotgun
right through my rib cage.
And these are the names
Which pierce your heart
And make you breathless
Because they hold stories
That you always hid in darkness.
And
You have skeletons In your
Closet
Like thats not enough
To give you the brain flu!
But the salt on the wound
Is that-
so does your wife,
Your mistress,
And everyone around you.
(gunshot)
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
I'm so sad, so hurt. I really want you back.
I want to hold you, at least,
just one more time.
You are such a beautiful precious little girl.
I'm so happy your first taste of life
was from my breast milk.
I wish I could have nursed you more often.
I'm glad you knew who I was.
You relaxed more to my voice,
better than anyone else's.
I enjoyed carrying you inside of me.
We were "one" for so long...
I was hoping to be holding you
when you passed away, and I was.
I know you went peacefully in your sleep,
cause I didn't even realize it had happened.
You held onto my finger with such a tight grip;
almost as if you were afraid to let go.
Now I know why...
I'm afraid to let go!
I'll never really get to 'see' you again.
I miss you so much.
I wish you were still alive.
I wish you'd been born healthy, I can't say 'perfect'
cause to me you were, and you still are.
You are gone, but still
my precious little daughter, My Angel Beth~
Love you, Baby Beth
Miss you everyday...
Love, Your Mommy~
*Wrote the day I went down to Goldens'
to sign the authorization for cremation
and I held you just one last time...*
1995
COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
Growing up as a guy I have something to admit
Its that theres so many girls that i'll never forget
So i'll jump right in and go right from the start
and tell you about all these girls that have affected my heart
So lets start with the As there is two that first come to mind
and thats Ambrea and Ashley, their each one of a kind
Now those are my sisters so their first to be said
but lets continue on to who else pops in my head
lets see...there's 2 Ashley As, but only one Ashley G
can't forget Amanda K, or all 7 Amys
There are so many As that we'd have to stay way long
let me wrap it up quick with the cutest one "akon"
You should see all these B's their so pretty it scares me
theres Beth and theres B thou, theres Bee and B. Barry
In the C's we have Crepeele with her pretty long blonde hur
and then we have Cameo, thats right, Mama Burr
On to the Ds they would never be meana
theres danielle carey, and then there is dreena
though im sure there are Es-Hs to do
i'm skipping to Js starting with J. Gubbes
Janelle, Jolene, or Jocelyn B.
Jordan, and Jen, and Jill L. you see
Jamie, and jasmine, or J. Allen
Jaylene, and Jessica, and then jen again
Oh God now the Ks, not sure where to begin...
I'll start with the departed R.I.P. Kristin
On to the girls that are more than alive,
Lets take, Keilyn, Kayla, and Karmen on a test drive
Three other K's must get named out for sure
And that's Kaley, Kansas, and Kristjana Schure
Two Girls in the Ls that are way way to awesome
And thats Lauren Borsheim, and of course, Laura Klassen
On to the Ms there is no time to spare
Just one, Maryke, and she cuts my hair
...I'm just kidding MOM you know your up there!
We do have an N there's nothing to fear
Her name is Niki, she lives in Red Deer
No Os, or Ps, or Qs to discuss
we'll move on to R's cause this next ones a must
Rachael K the Australian Wonder
Rebecca's art is so good she draws lightning and thunder
Theres a couple of shellys, and Sam 1 and 2
Tara looks like a model, and Tia does too
Don't know any Us, the Vs go in order
Vanessa M, V. Young, and VJ the reporter
If your name wasn't mentioned no need to be sour
this poem was rushed, took me less than an hour
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 10:04 PM UTC
To be a baby-
A baby, so dear.
Mommys here
Do not fear.
Baby in Heaven
Take Care-
For now...
Cause soon I'll be there.
My Precious Angel
My Guardian One.
You'll always be
My Special One.
So far away
but, always in my heart.
Don't you worry
We aren't far apart.
I love you,
My Little Girl.
Mommy misses you
I'll never forget you girl.
Love, Your Mommy
*Happy Birthday
but, you'll never be one*
1996
COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
.
Zodiac
Killer Tsuomy
Miyazaki T e d
Bundy Saeed Ha
nuel Robert Pic
ton Robert Mau
dsley Robert Ha
nsen Moses Sith
ole Mary A n n
Cotton J e f f rey
Dahmer Huang
Yong G regorio
Cardenas Herna
Dez Gary Leon Ridgway Eliza
Beth Bart hory Dean Arnold Corli
Pedro Lopez Mary Bell Louis
V a. n S c h o o r
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
I wish you told me that wounding my knees was a part of the joy and that my hair already looked perfect in waves, and that bedtime stories weren't lame. I wish you told me these when I was a kid, instead of giving me the cliche ******** — those spilled stories over spilled beers about how you were forced to marry Mom instead of that girl named Beth.
We were caught in a story, the one with that school money thoughtlessly flung on the floor, road trips arguments and drunk-driving over eighty, and nonexistent goodnight kisses and hugs. As a kid, I believed those were the indicators of affection and love. But they're not and had I known that earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who walked all over my mental health
with someone who took me on a desk and spit knives in his drunken slurs,
with someone who dialed another girl's number while thinking I was asleep,
with someone who only dialed my number while he thought his girl was asleep,
with someone who faded in the curtains after he saw my razored wrists,
with someone who said I was his ***** and called it his idea of love.
Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have trusted men who hurt me just as you had. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who had a ****** up notion of what love was. Had I known it earlier, I wouldn't have stayed with someone who was exactly like you.
Dad, had I known earlier that abuse wasn't supposed to be confused with love, I would have stayed alone.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC
Virginal
by Michael R. Burch
For an hour
every wildflower
beseeches her,
"To thy breast,
Elizabeth."
But she is mine;
her lips divine
and her ******* and hair
are mine alone.
Let the wildflowers moan.
Published by Songs of Innocence. Keywords/Tags: Love, wildflowers, lips, ******* hair, virginal, moan, moaning, *** passion, desire, divine, divinity
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 2:40 AM UTC