Ten times a day, I say I'm through wanting you. Then I think of you standing next to me, and the fantasy starts with your lips close to mine. Somehow, I'm floating away into the scent and the taste of your rhythm and rhyme. It may be a daydream, but it feels like you're mine. If ever we touched in the here and now, I'd have to be crazy to let you go. I’d lift you so high, we'll never come down.
About the Creator
Gaille Hunter
Gaille "Gypsy Heart" Hunter is a visual artist as well as a singer-songwriter, poet and fashion designer.
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Fences
Fences, boundaries, blocking, broken view. Fragmented abstracts, me and you, resting hinges, droop and swing, opening squeaky wire string. Cracked and peeled painted doors, dingy green, splintered boards, pen tup gardens locked in tight, prism maze of fractured light. Don't fence me out, don't fence me in. Joining brand new love begins. Fences, doors, windows, gates reach across communicate.
By Gaille Hunterabout a year ago in Poets
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl5 days ago in Fiction
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