I worship you
Every bone
Every tendon
And joint
That grounds
Your structure
And your
Heavenly form
That floats above
The curve of
Your bosom
Is the
Progenitor
Of my existence
My fountain in
A desert land
Your hair is
Like a fine stroke
Of calligraphy
Flowing and black
And most of all
Beautiful
Like the Tigris river
That birthed Sumer
And all civilization
Dancing that impossible
Dance, twisting
To the goings of the wind
Flowing, with
The tides
That govern man
To teach us all
To dream a dream
To be much more
Than what we seem
All held within
Your strands of hair
So fair
those black and flowing strands
Of hair who dance
Their song
Along the goings of the wind
Their palace moves
Of eastern taste
A thousand lands
They lay to waste
A thousand lies
They bring to day
A thousand eyes
They make give chase
Flowing, with
The tides
That govern man
Dancing that impossible
Dance, twisting
To the goings of the wind
And down the rivers
Of your hair
Stands your back
Firm against the
Crashing of the waves
Supporting that
Lighthouse of the soul
That lie
Between your brow
Cosmic glories
Cherubic frenzies
Demonic ecstasies
And fiendish heights
Lie between
The crevices of
Your curves
The shadows
Of your soul...
Bewitching me,
As the moon
Entrances the wolf
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Beautiful.❤️
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Thank you for reading! I’m glad you liked it
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Thank you for sharing.
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Thanks a lot for choosing to follow my blog. I’m so grateful for your support.
I can’t wait to read more great posts from you. 🙂
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I’m glad you enjoyed reading this poem! Thanks for taking the time to give it a read as well as following and taking in interest in the blog.
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My pleasure! I’ve followed you on Twitter as well so I could catch up with you.
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I think you just described the sexiest hair that has ever seen the light of day. WOW!
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Haha, I’m very flattered by your comment Ben! The description of the hair was the part of the poem I felt myself most absorbed in while writing, glad it came across well. Thanks for reading 🙂
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that definitely comes across! ❤
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“The Body of the Goddess,” is beautiful to look at as you describe it. The galaxy has the streamers of her hair. From her, capriciousness rains on the mountain, and in the beginning a straight channel is carved in the rock, but like the fickleness of mortal beings, in the mere thousands of years, the river begins to meander and to wash like shampoo the passionate creatures into an ocean of turmoil trapped on a tiny planet beneath the endless stars, to wash sentient creatures with a need to look up for a meaning, for a lust with cravings for the bosom of the universe, for the streamers, and for immortality.
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Thank you for reading Doug! What a poetic reply, reminds me of mythology where a god or goddess’s body is credited with having formed the earth.
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“Your hair is
Like a fine stroke
Of calligraphy”
How pretty ❤
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Thank you for giving this poem a read Judy! I’m glad you found those lines to be pretty, your comment was very flattering : D
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🙂
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