and you need to know
the music of love
silently, dripping from the sky.
Take your time
to know the flower,
the process of assimilation
mulberry touch of the warm earth.
Silence comes in surreal ways.
drink the nectars of blue lips.
Let it be,
the hanging clouds or your numb Cheeks.
Nature injects sweet nights often
disguised in a tunnel of metamorphosis.
Let it sit and evaporate slowly,
a skin so fresh and sublime, now.
A murder of a cold night
for grief is a slumber of dead skins,
unkept, insoluble.
The whole of purgatory is a lie of pale belching mouth.
Sip the nights now,
A tomorrow so bright, hanging on your verandah’s rope now.
🤗👍👏
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Hey you.🙂
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Hey
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Perhaps the most rofound thing you have ever written. I am always amazed how you write so effortlessly as if you are on a different level. Bravo..
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The last paragraph sums up the grief in this poem succinctly.
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“Grief is a slumber of dead skins.” Wow! Perfect!
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Thank you Lorraine. Hope you are fine.:)
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You manage to define love’s faces in a nice way here. Really good job ))
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Hello you! I’ve been away from poetry for some time and I have to tell you this is a gorgeous piece to come back! It’s quintessentially you and I adore the imagery and metaphors you’ve lavished. Exquisite. Hope time has treated you well 💕🌸☀️
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Lovely poem!
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Thanks!
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You are welcome!
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Wow, D, wow!
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,🙏🏼
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