how strange the clouds
before a storm
as they remind me of horses
and crying eyes
how velvet a freshly fallen petal
soothes more than touch
to waiting lips
as memories flood
how damask night
flickers threads of gossamer hints
as secret animals chant
to heavens’ myths
how smooth the ice
as it numbs my breast
only to be fired
by your tongue
-
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The Word Rummager 