Tall in sunlit moth-masks

Holes that are fire
In hands
Made to write
Frame my targets
Your name
In my quick-sand
Dark
With the magic of kisses
That I imagine
Where your lips begin
Is forcing its shadow on to my tongue.

The starfish
In my heart
Leads
Without taking its dance
To your fresh dreams
Cool with morning glances
Tall in sunlit moth-masks
Delicate
A satisfaction only ghosts will know
So near now
With its essence
Gleaming

Darren Thomas

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~ by londonsurrealistgroup on June 10, 2006.

 
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