19th September, 2012

SKIE PETERSON

Spilling forth on a bitumen carpet,
the ardent core of a burning star
a hip flask of spirited hope
a mere morsel or two of courage
a harmonica to reminisce
or rejoice,
a bar of grace, scented with clean.
a memory or two worth sustaining,
a headscarf for youth and wind.
there was a blinding half moon,
cold and weighty,
an oracle.
a heart.
fleeting,
scarred but still beating.
pulsing for Love.

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