Blue
She whispers above my breast,
I sweat diamonds
With no wind as symphony,
we shake the shadow of a thousand winters
never to ache in a frantic language
or worship a bitter picture away.
How sweet beneath her appetite am I?
Her skin a submission for the seeking
swindling time from sleep
Languid in our tiny blue garden,
may it not be a fancy
but essential music
I thoroughly enjoyed reading through some of your poetry. Especially poignant was the one about your friend marrying alone.
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