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Here - After like last weeks pizza crust left forgotten, dried, insignificant; stale words fill empty spaces, and night’s cover lays heavy on my chest there is no refuge from memory I long for twilight, when winds are weak, to stand; a crumpled castle of sand only an arms length from sky waiting for deliverance when spring exhales across meadows and dreams ride moonbeams to your eyes your tongue writing symphonies on my skin each breath a moment in the soft dulcet tone of your glance I am unbound, my soul to take atop soft clouds of illusion and laid… upon warm palms of earth before Eden elopes with dawn …to rest. ©Copyright January 28, 2011, Mad Moon®, all rights reserved |
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2011-02-14 07:38:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Sensual elegance, your trademark, my dear. I would suggest one change regarding "...dulcet tone of your glance".
Mixing the senses up like this in not necessary for your success here and jerks the reader. Smooth it out where you don't confuse the attributes of one sense with another. Simply no gain by doing it, especially within any sensual context.
But everything else is beautiful.
JCH