93 to 96 of 100


Not the throat
Not the deep mouth
Not guttural or sputtered spitting angry harsh and broken
More like rain
Like the pretty pitter patter of little drops
Like the whispers of whistles
It’s the lips
Beautiful gentle melodic poetic and soft-spoken
The tip of my tongue to my teeth and sweet breath
The lips.


Counting back the days
To the countdown until I’d never see your face
Our weekly letters
You broke the heart you’d so recently so singularly easily thunderously peacefully brought to life


Thorn in my heart
This morning
Splinter in my eye
Seeing all kinds of evil


From further not nearer
Is seeing clearer
Fairer, fair maiden
Your looking glass
Was not looking back
But looking bad
Light refracts


It is light

You gaze from the coast
And now you know
You love, sweet lovely
Your version of events
Contrary to so much evidence
It’s telling then ill-spent
Now providence


That same light

Beam of incredible length
Of wavering and vulnerable strength
Burns on, beautiful learner
Your negatives
Prior to development
Hid the prints
The facts


There is light.

À propos de Stina

If I could tell you about me in a neat and tidy definitive statement, I don't think I'd be writing this blog.
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