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RH 78 Jun 2016
My head is so heavy.
Face haggard and aged.
Each crease telling a true tale of smiles and cries.
Salty teared eroded skin.
Kissed by the sun and by the beauty.
Thick storm cloud coloured tressles cover its top. Complete with a unique doubled crowned style of it's own.
White and grey now bless the chin of a once brown beard. Turbulent times have etched into it the disheveled but distinguished appearance.
I'm the same but different. Age waits for no man and I embrace ageing like a new found hobby.
Khristov Dubois Oct 2011
Eve
Her body t’is my home,
upon white satin i lay.
She stitches me together,
with warmth and loving gay.
Gazing within her eyes,
reflections of forests and trees.
Fair tressles flowing fancy,
a smile that gives such tease.
And kind words she prays,
gentle, in a whisper.
On these lips i wait,
trembling but to kiss her.
May she never cleanse her cheek,
nor sadness upon her breast.
But love until that day,
held in her last caress.

— The End —