The Black & White Poet

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Hairs stand on her arm,
Fear of what to be near.
So, she disobeys her goosebumps
and takes a peak to cease her curiosity.
But it is a horse, with wings,
That stands aside the creek's banks.
And aloft the horse-
A being that has somehow, once again,
Found a passage to the inside of her dreams.
She can't escape him-
But nor does she desire.
She strains to touch him,
But as if she or he be transparent-
Her hand slips through his.
And her kiss- miss his lips.

Squinting to see through her tear-glazed eyes,
Realize her pillow lye beneath her head.
Hair stands on her arm,
Fear of what to be near.

~DaYnA e. 10/15+19/03

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