A Quartet


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1

this poem is a finder of voices,
its spectral form lingers
in the midst of human turmoil
looking for an empathic match
and, when found, it bridges
the divide between them
and changes

2

this poem is a tree
waiting for the birds
to return and fill it
with their songs.

3

For a moment
this poem
made sense.

Then
that moment
was over

4

This is poem is dead.
Killed in its mother’s womb.
It’s brain matter extruded,
just for a pack of cigarettes
in a chilling war game.
This poem wanted to play games too,
games that little children play.

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• billet-doux • – Assorted verses


♥♥

my innermost desires
sensuous syllables
in blushed hues of red
enveloped in predawn love
sealed with kisses
silly me hopes
they will reach you 

♥♥

and every moment
before a moment
you are there
so far away
and yet so close
and in your
this being and not being
my heart awaits its blossoming

♥♥

I crossed the bridge of stars

and found my dawn

your dusk

♥♥

billet-doux

like crushed roses

on white satin sheet

revealed

the morning after

you sure have a way with your mouth

♥♥