departed curves and
mountain
graves are manifested in
her
eyes. evergreen clouds
interrogating
thawed out palm prints.
through stampedes and
mornings combating
my inner wilderness
goddesses; i have woken.
to your breathes and the
woven of us
and the paranormal into each
other.
we are a compass without any needles,
hearts beating without salvation.
we are a compass without any needles,
hearts beating without salvation.
raven hunter hair and
flying dove eyes;
a sigh of painless
relief and a man becomes
a throaty wolf.
we are those wolves, my love.
