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Darkness is a long woman’s velvety hair,
claws into night; teasing her soft horizons.
my sublime face hides in those thickness—
memories of everything that has been claimed
by the ghost of these walls,
haunts my phantom purpose,
borrows my traceable time,
slips into a copy of conundrum:
a mist betraying her nakedness
the unseen rain rush, of her smiles,
beckoning lust to the dreamy, lofty shameless skies
her kindness are the suppleness of breasts,
quells my restless, unwritten mind

days span like a mocking satiety

unread books left by a writer’s untold demise

we are on the jaded floor
where are hearts lay, broken, like fine Ming wares
remembering the conspiring times
my fingers were lost in her fragrant body
her lips, nerve endings, heavy in concupiscence
everything, fragile yet corruptible, swallowed into smoke—

into me; all-embracing my cigarette
dream-like-innocence. my battle for Resilience
is a ship, captain-less, tossed out in heavy seas;
I shut myself in the surging sun
thin trailing thoughts exposing,
our shadows within
this silent diaspora.


author | © 2005 andronymous

Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary. -- Sir Cecil Beaton (1904-1980) English photographer

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The following comments are for "Shadows"
by Idomis

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