I like it here in my head
There's never a storm
Nor a poet dead
Instead, A Craft of whimsical play
No oppositional delay
Sugared tulips red of sweet spilling
To my desire, love that is kneeling
At my door once more
Opened in aged envelope
A heart gifted, hands praying palm to dance on the ceiling...
Someone willing to be wild
A soul much like mine ~k
(All rights belong to Keila Coate Womack)
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