grape

the big sky. the inspiring sunset.

the early death. the hardening nipples of

earthly bodies.

they made loved beside the flirting yellow fire;

it was one of the finest moments.

sad as the hard rain.

the crying sunshine.

my knight in shining armor

shimmering, glowing.

last breath of warmth.

the shames returned to their proper places

where it can’t be touched.

random things somehow set us free.

a thrown out memory to remind  what

a good time we had.

ironic is the afternoon that mimes

a trampled soul unable to encompass

the constant teasings of solitude that are

formed of unknown but a continuous

reading  of defying definitions.

a mirror of passive dreams.

the days incense, and tomorrow.

from ” to woodshed “

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