Love,
the crackling sparkles of light
making the picture of my pen-point dance
by the coffee cup on the shingle I share with
love,
the way the gods send
feelings through the current, flowing
into tiny new valleys made by the point of my pen.
Love,
the way I wait patiently
for my eye to latch onto a lavishing
light of listening, listening to the strait channels of
love,
and that I listen only because I hear,
waiting here, daunted by the potential, waiting
for the dawn to appear, rising over the horizon in a burst of
Love,
the glorious sunlight splashing
on the beach of time, waves of
rays tucking under the curvy current of
love,
the energy pulling me and the
groundless sand of the hourglass,
into the sea as it crashes against
Love,
falling into the next wave,
plunging beneath the wet salty wonder,
and trying not to gulp down the warmth of
love,
the fact the coffee has turned
warm, like the sea, just waiting
for a cause to cause commitment in me.
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