July 3, 2011

Nectar nurture

any wine sipped or otherwise
toe-dipped slipped reins dropped
by the side
horse saddled strides
much like mountains when they rise
from the plains
and paint with a rasp
and the clasped clutch
of my locked away heart
is often too much storm for me
to want or desire such a living love
I fear dear
that I won't deserve thee
and rather have resigned myself
to collecting dusty regards that are empty
amidst the shards of broken lies
painted with the pretty words
of more tries
convincing myself to believe
sewing seams where I fall
too easily to pieces
too easily in boxes
the foxes stealing breastmilk
outpace all the hounds of my
out numbered loves

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