God does not write words,
rather he waxes poetic
and that sensuous poetry
spills from the void
like the softest Summer breeze
creating...creating...creating...
God does not sing songs,
rather she is the lute and the lyre
and the sweet v
This Heart Content
The soft touch of your presence
Melts cold days,
Adding warmth like gently burning logs
In the fireplace of existence.
Your words,
Indelible upon this life
As cherished memories and beginnings
That take me higher.
You're the butterfly queen
A black stallion rips through
a snow laden field,
while the sun glistens like
a thousand points of blinding light,
each flash an echo of an entire world
in and of itself.
Plumes of smokey air steam
from its flaring nostrils
puffing outward
with each forceful
My daddy sang me night songs
of death and destruction
while tucking me beneath
my mickey mouse comforter,
so I might sleep without abduction
or fear of the boogieman's silhouettes.
My bottle,
a luke warm 70 millimeter shell
with a nipple attached
so I might r
