Free Verse # 394 (a bag of poetry)

chasing flowers
fallen from her hair,
on the pathways of the world
carrying nothing
but a bag of poetry.


A woman who can grant me
the love I always longed for,
between us the silence
of the poem-sky.


Summer in a vineyard…
grape by grape
from her skin falling,
a wine burning velvet
in the cup of poetry.


Batroun, February 03, 2017

Shriveled kisses
in the midst of winter…
figs clinging still
to the promise of the sky


Writing always follows
a sacred ritual,
her fragrance burning
along the edge of the pen.


Poetry is always a companionship, an intimacy between two beings.


Humans are doorways opening unto little ponds or great oceans, water bodies as small or as great as the deeps of our longing, the rootedness of our understanding and love.

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