Fingers trace over heart,

how far back do ‘we’ go?

I say, ‘Since the start’.

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So few words, for one who fills so many hours. 

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Your heart, my kingdom of heaven. 

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Yes to the storm enfolding the sea.

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Twenty lines on love,

where a look

would have spoken. 

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Lace like 

brief shadows,

then there is you.

Where you change,

I will change too. 

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Day one of ninth month;

oatmeal-white on rosy red,

orange in green furled. 

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