![]() pageA Poem by Periacand a page is turned adjusted the candle for ready words the morning brings revised desperation we reach for imagined bliss and succeed
I love her like the Icelandic language
hold steady the fire of desire that left us forgetful and wailing about the emotion claimed kindling and we stood unharmed as the bonfire bitched
honest were every breathed sentence I've ever spoke the were given to you like gold bricks wrapped in wonder © 2012 Periac |
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1 Review Added on August 1, 2012 Last Updated on August 1, 2012 Author |