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No play or fairy tale
Fee Fie Foe Fum…
Scream the irregular beats of my stricken heart
as I pour my all into the cauldron of love
Ignoring the witches panicked looks
I cast aside their spell books
and concoct a potion
from the sweat and tears of my own desire
A base of the blood that courses through my veins,
too hot to hold,
red as the darkest rose,
runs from my wrist
spilling silently
into the stream of a sentence
spelling soundlessly
the words I write
From deep within my battered body
I collect the essences
of those values
that ease the workings of my very existence
Love, honour, trust and respect…
ingredients in inexhaustible measure
pour prodigiously onto the page
Strong arms to support you
hold you and enfold you…
Gentle hands to explore you
caress you and cherish you…
Lips to kiss you and whisper words of love
…and the making of love…
Draw themselves into the letters of my lines
words of wanting
paragraphs of passion
Fee Fie Foe Fum…
I smell the blood and tears
of another love letter
written in the media of the mind
daring itself to drip
from lips and pen
to explode in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound
to engulf and excite expectant and eager ears and eyes
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble…
To send or not to send; that is the question
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