Lee May 10, 2012
The flickering images still locked within this braincase wall brings me back to that Oak filled grove facing the setting sun
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Sylvan creatures picking forest floor morsels, flaxen waved cherub gathering by hobbit home doorstep and nubile bark hewed dryad tumbling over logs that broke the seerís stone
Between the titan forestís grotto and airless lagoon valley we made this place our bed; played as satyrs do and out of sight from fiery Dionysusí watchful wine obscured eyes.
Dancing to beating hearts; hips colliding, draped in by Spanish Moss and cushioned on leaf litter we felt this land, pulsing, gyrating, Bacchanalia not meant for human gazes, dances of the semi-divine, breaths of the hooked worm, blessings of gods man will never know. We keep this secret hushed never to be exhumed from itís hastily dug grave, sacred dealings between the immortals with promises of no more.
These are moments meant to be played out but once
As the last tree falls I fade, bound by the new rings brought annually I let out no more sorrow, I simply smile for that innocent spiral dance and vanish into the creeping mist.
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