With heavy BREATHING as (faithfully) her lownecked
throat — something in how her 19th century dress little
topples and expands. Emily Dickinson?

One small foot squared /mired in silk\ wrinkling lost
asking me: how we are here now \ i slowly within
sun-drenched ponderous arms bedecked /time travels —
whose white thick wrist deliver prompoty
to a deep lap of enormous mindless HEART.

How i never believe i now but always in “how”
and how she tells me i need no other lover :
i won’t leave her now/ how i believe her now \
asking me how i believe in her love — i say
“i don’t know oh i don’t know” how?

something in the way she knows. And all i have
to do is think of her — it’s what she shows
me. I believe in “how.”

What I believe in how.

:: 10.24.2021 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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