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Fountainhead

Fountainhead by Michael R. Burch I did not delight in love so much as in a kiss like linnets' wings, the flutterings of a pulse so soft the heart remembers, as it sings: to bathe there was its transport, brushed by marble lips, or porcelain,— one liquid kiss, one cool outburst from pale rosettes. What did it mean ... to float awhirl on minute tides within the compass of your eyes, to feel your alabaster bust grow cold within? Ecstatic sighs seem hisses now; your eyes, serene, reflect the sun's pale tourmaline. Published by Romantics Quarterly, Poetica Victorian, PW Review, Nutty Stories (South Africa), Inspirational Stories, Poetry Life & Times

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 11/18/2019 2:09:00 AM
Hi Michael a wonderful poem here. Great sediments from your heart. Thanks for sharing
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Michael Burch
Date: 11/18/2019 11:54:00 AM
Thanks, Gregory, for taking the time to read and comment.

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