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B is for Prose (on a Blue Background)

long before gods were born to the sons of men i was. and you were. and we played. played in the waters that would be called seas; played in the ground that would be called land; played in the darkness that would be called night. and we made our bed out of sky and covered ourselves with clouds... and kisses. what happened? what? who? what bewitched us so that tears tears fall like thunderstorms and erode the earth we so desperately tried to nurture? when did this relation ship sink to the bottom of the ocean and we became... Just Human? - 24:12:08 © tjh

hot and bothered. the desert is hot and bothered by the creeping sound of rain that promises to drench it with its sweat. fulfillment. and yet...not. for the sound of sweet sweaty rain, no matter how far, cannot quench the hot and bothered desert. come quickly to me. come quickly. - 24:12:08 © tjh [i know why i wrote this, however the "WHY" i wrote this... is lost to me. C-]

pores raise like the Himalayas. wrapped under a Christmas comforter, she defends herself against the waking. till warm breathe crawls over her. till warm kisses melt the season's cold. till warm hands lead to a warmer soul that no longer needs a comfort her. till bells toll from within her, drowning the choir on radios. till this earth is possessed by this Christmas spirit that lies in her bed... and her memory. my Christmas... merry Christmas. - 25:12:08 © tjh

more tomorrow pls God...


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