I came back again
the full God, an opus
of your eye; I am her mad
spring—she wants to see
how far we flay in
our garden beds
and I am your tragedy in diaphanous arms
of the moon growing
silhouette
rising to the thunderbird;
she’s killing me more
than I ever could
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Maybe to face it once and for all,
through god-like sight.
After a stormy fall,
shining bright.
Monsun.
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*monsoon
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Beautiful and true. ❤️❤️
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❤
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Excellent poem, Lucy 🤩
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Thank you so much!
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You’re welcome ❤️
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❤ ❤
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