... Applachia ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ...

she talks of love

life is ebbing
and with it comes
clarity

women have spoken
to me of love
for half a lifetime

i have mused it
and studied its
corners and edges

analyzed its
emotions and
measured what boundaries
i could find

but it was not
until
she spoke of love

that i felt
the blood burn

when love
and body
and lips
collide

she talks of love
like its her
soulmate
and it is,
love was
made for lovers,
it is hers
and she is mine.

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... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... country ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

Slow evening dim

i burnt myself in the fire
that we had built just to watch
its billows hang in the empty
January air. crisp and clear,
from the Northern Plains,
it tumbles over the trees
of our genteel little hollow.
sounds of Saturday vibrate
against distant wood,
where love and smoke mingle
above and in the midst
of us.

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... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... L.F. ..., ... life ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ...

Quandering

love hurts
if you let it

stripping away
the essence of I

becoming the
reality of we

let the cleansing come
i am weary of the old me
and my wandering is the
quandering that finds no
absolution without you

as sure as the steady,
spinning sun,
let this love hurt

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... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... girl ..., ... heartsick ..., ... LF ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ...

sweetpea

she is the
epitome of me

&
i would want
for nothing
but the glance
she gives
in the pulling
away of a kiss

lost in the
mist of dizzy
head swilrlings

at golden sunrise
she is mine
in orbit

&
i take
umbrage with
no living thing
ever again

she is
the better
of me

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... Applachia ..., ... Autumn ..., ... beauty ..., ... home ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ...

waiting to Fall

ole buttermilk sky,
last dregs of Summer
hang heavy from the leaf.

people start to say,
“I’m ready for Fall”
after the blackberries

have all burned up. wet,
fat clouds float flat-
bottomed across the

sky and we daydream
of dark nights and
cool, crunchy leaves
on the sidewalks.

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... addiction ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... life ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ...

hangwoman

at the first
you are inundated
with feigned fulsome.

later, blandiloquence
bequeaths itchy garlands
and laurels around
your neck,

a noose of neglect,
Purgatory for
for the wholly Jilted.

you will find
comfort in the constricting
cords; delight compromises
and fear subsides.

here you are, after all,
on the Gallows Pole.

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