Rough Diamond
Ice Storm in words to the wind
the stars are blind Oceans
the bay horses in the refinery of time
the golden gates of the mill the years
Each step is the last
riding the whirlwind
starry sky in motion intimate
the wind blows the flashes Mill
divers in the river at the last step
dreams listening signals burning
summer flowers planted in the embrace
eyes reflecting glass mirrors hot
passion shared with the diamond in the rough
carved at the foot of the road in camel tones
pleasures with the pattern generates the passion fruit
plunging the soul until your hair.
Arthur Nett
06/06/2011
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