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Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
Short Story / Literary Fiction
A golden Thigh; a thought, a myriad of thoughts, Thoughts like questions pondering vastness only to find the answer in a box. Shall I whine and complain About stepping on broken glass? On thighs sit great things- birth; renewal Sands form glass, wine pours freely Grapevine Dionysius Child- Whelped on Zeus Thigh as Semele died. One of twelve, like Hands on a clock, seeming Immortal, yet not. Youthful yearning Pythagoreans learning Golden as the Sun still shines. Numbers Count the Days Exponentially speaking Monday evenings like a silhouette Base polarizing days of Old; Sitting in a Chair getting hammered With Remy as Chiron labels me a Drunk Schooled not yet placed in a fish bowl-A Cell phone sits on my thigh as your number enters my mind.-LyraHydraComa/Penultimate- ©2013 Boxed Whine Read more at https://www.booksie.com/literary_fiction/poetry/lyrahydracoma/boxed-whine#zooyqCWAMuZfcHy2.99
in nomini de Padre Filio E spiritu sanctum.... LyraHydra. The God Literati.... Coalesence... Brooklyn within the gift of a Kiss... Fluidity.... Hats off to Bob Mopitt et al.. et cetera et ce ter a- Shalom y L'Chaim
I'll tell you this...
No eternal reward will forgive us now
For wasting the dawn. J Morrison
In the past, people were born royal. Nowadays, royalty comes from
what you do.
Gianni Versace quote
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