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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