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After awhile
we learn to take love
into our own hands, don’t we?
Sooner or later we cease
foisting the responsibility for our fulfillmen..
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I still borrow your image in the darkness
laying it across the proficiency of my fingers
weaving a fantasy with the loom of longing.
A wild a..
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things have fallen away
like the aging leaves on the Chinese Elm that senses fall.
she gently sheds her leaves
preparing herself for winter
after ..
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I stand naked
against the midnight fingers of December.
They should be frigid,
but instead are uncaracteristically balmy,
practicing their spring ..
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I wrote this poem for my Mother's Black Housekeeper who was a pillar of strength to me in my childhood.I will never forget the grace with which she li..
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I would like to have you kiss me,
do you know?
Kiss me where it still stings,
deep in the hallways of the undisturbed,
behind the doors, still..
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It is absolutely necessary to walk through the showers of sorrow, to make friends with your angst, to stand still and listen to your confusion and to ..
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I want hands,
warm creeping hands
tenacious, tentacles that cling like vines and
linger on the memories of my flesh....
Hands as mysterious as..
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Would you like to lick the blood
from my wounds Judas?
The sores you inflicted with devotion
and tore open with a kiss.
Your soft fluttering w..
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...all of us walk around bumping into life's furnishings when it comes to love, scratching our heads and wondering...will we ever get it right? Yes, I..
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