Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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Flesh absent, the footfalls of unwarranted affection cannot leave scars. The dusk waits as carrion to our hopes, the feasted upon carnage of our desire. And the land draws breaths, great yearning pulling at the stars and moon that cracks the frozen sternum of a Winter’s hold, birthing dreams of Spring, of hot blood pulsing under the kiss of hungry lips, of joyous carnal gifts and need answered. The sweeter kindness of the hand’s grip, the sweat, the sigh; distant pasts concluded and stored away in the icy fright of now, remote futures caught in the frigid winds of loneliness. The armor gleams pearlescent strength, immutable dichotomies flailing where the deepest cuts divide and soil threatens to force life anew. A chance at candor, a crooked grin, a dance under starlight, a traded gem, the salted skin, an unspoken hymn. Be that a future could offer healing. Were that lessons won from the past. Have that thrive shielded under a carapace of frost. Faith in the land yields to nothing, in the heart it’s an awkward tumble into ardor. Fall gracelessly and allow the chill to shatter away. (at Frozen)

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