I. Summer
I figure near the equator...
Lips slowly parted,
invoked the devil inside...
I figure near the equator,
in that sticky delirious...
My God, My Comfort, My Strength
Who are you, my beloved God...
I am no Alfred Prufrock;
you were self invited to decorate my tardy brain...
Snowflakes softly fall,
As white as a flying dove...
In verdant prairies
where boughs of calloused...
I slip into my second skin
Deft brush strokes...
The integrity of a selfless indulgence plays in...
Emotion seems so far away
A poison so divine...