Blues Song for the Love Sprung

Dismal are Sunday rains. Mind drifts to cryptic messages you scribd in collarbone hollows, vibrating in sync with the wicked force of your body, exploring the depths of my quaint heat dripping warm cream. Dare to picture the results such extraordinary fantasy motivates. Soul unions are unpredictable; your enchantment? Unparalleled. Body aches remind me of…

There is no feeling more heavy…

… than the weight of carrying your old self around in search of the new within you. There is no task more daunting and yet more necessary and more powerful than acceptance in the face of that discovery. NO act is more important on a path to authenticity than letting go of the old you…

fundamental

The land of pages calls me as I walk the words to my own story.

3/9/15: 100 Words (pt. 1)

Use these 10 words (or their variations) in a poem of 100 words: eyesome, kickshaw, hum, succorance, dalles,, oily, languid, suffuse, baleful, curve, My soul is still eyesome, though solitary; it’s mask, an oily collection of misleading expressions and mismatched genetics. Mind be a ceaseless succorant, humming like the ancient motor under daddy’s favorite car…