I like the moment when my hand
opens up a window to the unknown

polar winds, a vintage of lifetimes and stories,
now caressing my combusting skin.

For an instant, we are sand: constrained and
docile to the invisibility of our surroundings.

A neon moon brings me in touch with my
most primitive instincts: claiming ownership of

the next wrong step and a turn that is a season too late.
Cha cha cha... Your hands of oak center me in

a forest of penetrating humidity and darkness where
you are trapped in the comforting walls of a 

perennial stalactite - robust and fragile - as I 
await to surrender to the next cutting breeze


◄ A distant Memory

In Este ►


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Brutus Paulinus

Mon 20th Feb 2012 09:05

Thank you guys!

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Marianne Louise Daniels

Thu 9th Feb 2012 12:22

Some beautiful words here, I agree with Rory.

<Deleted User> (10013)

Thu 9th Feb 2012 00:00

Really enjoy this one; very enigmatic - there's some very powerful phrases there too 'a forest of penetrating humidity' and 'trapped in the comforting walls of perennial stalactite' are two great little quotable lines.

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