Sunday, 19 September 2010

Poem Twenty-Four Six

Obtuse hips, say no more.
Walking collateral damage.
Turning and twisting around some alien orchid, a love that’s too untrue with gutsy attitude
And a hay barn stored askew the underground sewers,
Hiding, undeterred.

Solid bones, weeping for joy.
Sleeping faint weariness.
A gaping hole wholly fulfilled with triumph, empty of fulfilment and stroked by true love
Touching the boundaries quietly disbelieving,
That this could be happening. 

Such a lonely boy.
A lonesome limpet.
Love is a battery canister below his belt, and an energy is pulsating through my navel
Through my hips through my heart,
Lightening navigating a labyrinth.

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