Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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As if they were
Those hands,
Those lips
That mouth.
The spill of salt and lust
Is a dream ready for real,
The Pinocchio magic
Of a lonely heart
Searching for complete;
Daring for connection
And the firm grip,
Stroke,
Flinch
Of shuddering release.
In the end it’s quiet,
An ecstasy awaiting
The ecstatic.
A wish awaiting
The grantor.

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To see what's what in the world of Santo

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