Saturday, March 5, 2011

Gary Imperial


Strewn about the wondrous white
by a God-like fickle muse
some thunder in while others are light rain

The Lilac mist is heady
pause take in the sweetened air
let fragrance finger in the words to use

Middle, index and my thumb
they are empty as I wait
come fill them with your stylus form for me

Through the gray I see your form
as a charcoal sketch on pad
embrace me now so we may be complete

Whets my appetite for words
each minute grows my hunger
sublime the thought it will be fed by you

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