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D u b t a i l

the electric pace
beating out the pattern
in haste

clothes strewn
skins of chill awakening
the dark lash like a bow
bending a water
and running
down the curvature
of expectancy
down the throat of

wet dark pupil
we are mirrors of hunger
lavish egos

like ghosts on passing buses
a smile
curving in the dark dimples
rushing off
rushing near

the hot kick
of dare
and brilliant nails
shinning fresh
on staid ankles
on velvet perfumed
in mines of golden
dreams like fleece

we are wolves
attired in our sheep
carrying the fire
while the waiting

Editing stage: 


...players or not
when the fire is hot....!

I like what I think it says
even if I'm off base, I like it

the action swift, the senses lift
the mental drift, rewarding



this is true....

author comment

to the howling
wolves as it may be
baying the night
to let down her hair

knock, knock, knocking
of wood
then near
then distant
again near

rising and fading
animals scratching
trying to tear the walls down
teeth sinking deep
into counting sheep
to devour the lust
I now lust for

rolling over
to a gentle snore
that shrugs the passion away
like a robe
falling off her shoulders

I have not written much lately. Not much at all. It was good that I found this and a tiny bit of inspiration. thank you


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