January 16

Tasty, this life, this imagination, spree
of senses spun up, sweaty fingers in gloves
gesturing at the sun, begging that turning,

bring just a whiff, some of your charming
spell to this rich loam of earth, run well
your loom till we have one lush thought. Poor
lies the mind dark, done, disguised.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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