Monday, February 27, 2012

sonnet sixty nine

the vines tangle and our embrace
weave an intense current
of conversations that live
to breathe punctuations and

synaptic movements excised
by this hunger, unfleeting,
humming, aching for more
gathering a storm that

is our love and being
subdued by its own innate
peace, holding on to

cracks and fissures
that give me your color,
flaws that present your light.

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