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Monday, March 14, 2011


Knowing the profound impact of love and the healing powers love can transcend, I find love to be a trellis of vines interconnecting into the mere essence of life. Each breath we have feeding the root of our heart; each shimmering electrical pulse acknowledging the power of what lives between souls. Found in the darkness of the night, our fingertips become our eyes.

"I got lost in the night, without the light
of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me
I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness."
— Pablo Neruda

Trestled Lovers

Timeless tantric lovers mold in shadows,
mossy stone archways, a ritual for the

soul; borrowing the energy of night, an
indulgent apparition; fatigued daylight in a

rustic pleasure garden, vines wrapping and
entwining flesh; driven adoration--

black, sanguine, white--love inspires.
Bastions of stability, written auguries,

downpour of delight to the extraordinary creation;
sensitive fingertips stretch, tracing languid hips,

dance of lips, a transporting kiss, tears of resilience,
undiminished grace of passion, relentless breath.

Quiet secret night mirroring life, profound
in precision, emitting honeysuckled fragrance.


  1. i love the poem and i really love what you wrote before the poem...the fingertips become the eyes...


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