On The Road by Grell V. Grant

For the image

                    of  ruffled years

          called shamelessly

free, and still

          coveted or inwardly

                    embraced, this

shoreless need, a broken star

                    weeps.  Puffs of sandy

          love, breath rising

from under

          plumed waters, shores

                    of tempered grass

fading, lost summer

                    blossoms scenting

          the wilderness

of desire.  Your soft

          white arcs, sure touches

                    becoming waves, evening

pillows, wet

                    riffs, this unmeasured

          being enclosed,

here, within

          me, softly flowing

                    into you and your moon-

lit prance.  Stroll, hop

                    and stubble.  Gaze,

          hills drumming

and rolling, without the cloudy

          horizon’s dreamless

                    limit.  No sound, no clear

echoes, but the whispers

                    of early surrender, as love

          channels the flared

song of bells, and sinks

          into love, watching notes

                    dance, where the water

          parts, rippling

the moon.

 

Grell Grant is a Contributing Editor at sunday @ 6.

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