... 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 ..., ... 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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... addiction ..., ... anger ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... blood ..., ... country ..., ... experimental ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ..., ... the sun ..., ... time ...

voyeur

why would you
possibly come
here, sir?

what would you
hope to see?

i promise that
you’d run 
far away

should you find
the real me.

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... poem ..., ... poetry ...

dirty laundry

i slept nearly two
decades on the scales.
weighed in the balance,
oft times, hell! most times
i was found wanting.
my love was a laved sheet hung to
dry in the wind. and left; to
dry, always there, blowing, flipping,
fraying, end upon end, season
after season, yet,
never dry enough. never ready to
be brought in. never mended.
never crisp, like the
taste of Fall fires on the
tongue’s tip. and so i stayed there,
latched to the line.

until i let go
and simply blew away.

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... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poetry ...

Cold is coming

in late August,
beneath my family Oak
she pledged her
soul to mine. her whispers
i found in creaking
branches. another Winter long
gone, another hastily approaching-

buried in the muggy heat
sleeps the chill of her heart,
her gelid blood seeps beneath
the skin of the wind
in veins of October
muscadine, in the
juicy tendrils of
the Autumn scuppernong
dripping down the edges
of her perfect smile.

we both know Cold is coming
and like our tree, we shall shed the
foliage of the past – we shall
die in acorn graves, resting
comfortably in our coppice quilt
until Spring.

when all things are made new.

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... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... girl ..., ... L.F. ..., ... love ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... relationships ..., ... the South ...

a poet with no good words

I sat this morning
in gray shadows.
candle lit, just right
brooding acoustic music
writing pad and pen

I sat this morning
to write you something,
some tangible whispering
of love, or adoration,
or flattery..

I pondered ridiculous
adjectives and a
marathon of run on sentences,
I sat this morning
to write you something,

but nothing came.

so I stilled myself,
in the quiet green beauty of
this foggy, Spring dawn
and thought of and
cared for nothing
save you.

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