FIGHTERS THAT PICK FLOWERS
a model in her looks
a body carved in a Greek marble dream
washed in winters cloak
stalked across a burning sand
HE HELD A BRONZE HAND
so many eras spinning across a carpet in fear
fitted corner to corner in the sphere
zipped ancient beaten leather
crisp glance and stabbing reason
HE HELD A MELTING HAND
who placed the thunderstorm inside the frozen hidden mind
movement restricted -movement replaced
by statues silent embrace
fall away the gracious looks
seated justice -the scarlet lie
HE SLIPPED THE PANIC AWAY
YET Â more games to play
what creeps around inside
how can you hide the days
weeks spread from light to dark
years a prayer to free
STILL SHE REACH;S
the steel is strong,shiny,searching ,oozing the cold
movement dances in her waving ocean arms
rolling over a sweaty sheetÂ
 passions flag desperate to remain intact
falling skies ,practised orgasm
they look on and in visions scribble
they dribble words
how sweet and still she is
wonder what games play in her eyes
SHE HOLDS THE SPACE
SHE HOLDS THAT THUNDERSTORM THAT RAGES
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