“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label phallacy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label phallacy. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Cross-polination
untouched by light-yet-
feels its warmth and reaches out-
made bigger by desire-
hard wood, hard-ly virgin
forests for the feral trees-
wild in her-ness, promiscuous
phallacy, the protection
of innocence, guarded in a sense-
an essence burgeoning out-
no reason to celibate...
Image by By Jon Sullivan (Public-domain-image.com) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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