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Wednesday, October 21, 2009


Frustration is the manipulator
Of my fingertips.
Lead is pushed across the page
In an effort to express my
Inner most thoughts.

Lines squiggle
As my voice shakes
Starting and stopping
In discursive ramblings of feelings

Meant to turn one’s heart
Arouse one’s senses
And liberate one’s soul.

Analogies of flowing rivers
Seductive sunsets and
Sensuously soft roses
That bring to mind the
Smooth supple anatomy
Of this woman’s strongest aphrodisiac

Seem trite in comparison
To the fervent emotions
Stuck in my throat.


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