Secret Present
A secret present concealed in your open palm/the city noise rises and subsides like an alien sea/
forests sing and burn rose scented movie screens
upon your lips soft as a song of want we kiss/
the Summer wraps her trees around the ghosts of pain with leaves of healing rain/
deep within a fiery satin autumnal evening hearts are living rubies leaping like caged exotic birds flourishing their iridescent plumage to Stravinsky strands/
open silken palms/
picture frame hands/
secret present/
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2016-09-25 at 23:33
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