At the Door of Happy Hour
your memory springs up
in the right middle lobe
pullulating thoughts of desire
pulsating heart
insatiable urge to tread
in the forbidden jungle again
wind of anguish
broken dreams clatter
dancing feet your naked hair
waist in my craving hands
spinning arguing emerging
containing your infinite warmth
waiting at the door of the happy hour
Copyright © Francis Osho | Year Posted 2015
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