Slave to the heart

Posted on by T. Maxwell-Harrison 
Light pouring from the heart

heart of fibers, of blood and flesh

riveting river of oily cellulites

fluidly moving onto new pastures

where we can feel our outlets

becoming a mush of dreaming dwarves

yet there is a silver coil

and black clouds

out of which spurt many a dime

where the heart can only dream of the sublime.

6 thoughts on “Slave to the heart”

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