untitled. the morning as the map that folds.A Poem by mikl pauluntitled. the morning as the map that folds.
I negate this distance with what it would be to be shining you.
there are grasps gathered in the corner of this thought.
we have induce the splendor so rapid; the tiny bird presented beneath my tongue still panic and a heart for the weather.
still shuffling through the ghosts to ambush all joy and repeat.
the parking lot uses noise to become empty and I have these stories of coming home and so many homes that have came into stories yet the whisper still wets the morning shadow of what-will-my-skin-become today and with all these mysteries how does one create the swift of eye and soft of love?
I would lay you down between these captions of light. and along the underwrist, you see where the warmth is a visible knowing? against that desert of your body, my temple would press, and I would begin to speak, simply, laying that way there beneath your settling sounds. © 2013 mikl paulReviews
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4 Reviews Added on February 7, 2013 Last Updated on February 20, 2013 Authormikl paulatascadero, CAAboutI live on the central coast of california and love to watch things move. Currently starting up Olivia Eden Publishing and learning how to listen. more..Writing
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