coldly
smooth skeletal
hands turned
twisting
each
door
dead
locked
long before
our lips dried

Little feet
on mounds of earth
Lots of stamping
childrens' mirth
Jumping mole hills
wellies high

How fast these precious times go by

Little voice from mum (disguised)
wonderment shines in widening eyes
believing the poor jangled mole had said

**"Stop Stamping On My Head!"

Mainlining
e v e r y
poetic
word
THE BUZZ
is
w
o
r
t
h
i
t
.
.
.

First
to pieces,
then to dust,
He captured her with words;
Of gold, freed
with silver tongue,
imbibing
every verb.

winged osmos
flew,
dusted beats
into chaos,  
as each
word
feels
felt.

Oats, stay dry for fecunditys harvest, as Eostres' hares
bring pittu; Falling earthbound, in abundance.
Spring madness dawns;
Love, persists. 

Once willowed, under Winter skies, shed all
we've done before.
Bringing warmth (sown a lifetime ago) to embrace
this thaw.

Watching our steps, across moss green floors; We dance
lingering in the sweetest meadows.Together,  
under budding branches;
It's time...

Blossom, reflected upon dappled millpond;
Still.
- Dark glassed surface, gently rippling with undertone -
Can you hear the water paddles roar?


Will Springs' spirit guide you; With carnal lust abound,
trusting Her to save your oats from being;
Taken...turned out...
ground?

We,
with spare oats, heap
to powdered dust; Sifted, then refined...
Molded something beautiful, wholesome, yet devine!