My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

My Love

My love I hung

on a line,

out to dry.

To the bitter winds

of jealousy.

To the calm winds

of an embrace.

Shrivelled by the hot, scirocco

winds of passion.

Lava souls melting.

Lusted and lusting.

Wanted and wanting.

My love I hung

on a line,

in fear of

the black, polluted

dust of decay.

Of love no more

which no wind will stir.

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3 thoughts on “My Love

  1. Scirocco? What does that mean?

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