...Mould Me...
I am pulled out like an old canvas, aged with the delicate mirth in years of creativity, peeled over by mistake after mistake; a glimpse of brilliance. I have felt your eyes reach out and teach me in ways both explicit and divine, lifting me to a new depth of humanity as if I were hung above an alter to be worshipped by the apologists. Make me in your image and sit fearing sweet me. Take me to the dead black of a poem rhyming, (if I am blank it is because I am existing as everything all at once.) Make me in your image and sit fearing ...Call me love and I will age ripely... Written August 3rd, 2001 © on Dec 02 2001 11:02 AM PST 0 • 1
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"I am pulled out like an old canvas,..."