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in her time of wings
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Hyacinth garden she had become so curious
as if lost in time, somewhere behind
all the shedded tears, laughing off the years
they would not let her truly love
lengthen the quill continuous
like a molted serene feather
dip into porcelain reservoir
a burden releases from her jaw
her submissions not content with tether
within the play
which plays with her
her body rends itself
in a zone
so mysterious
touch becomes
erogenous
beautifully
here, there
an old fantasy
within new decree
spun from her memory
in her time of wings
This is a perfect description
This is a perfect description of what I go through very often... I praise your pen! You are incredible with words! Bravo! SS
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
*penning... Lol! iPad! But I
*penning... Lol! iPad! But I bet you have cool pen anyways! ;)
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
I praise
your praise of my pen
Thank you again
"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"
Dylan Eliot