Sunday, March 8, 2009


Thus approaches the quiet storm –
As we let the sun set silently behind us I hold you.
Your hair caresses my face gently with the tempests unspoken advance
that the air is filled with the scent of your soul and the sea.
Tacit waves harbinger a calm that rolls in kissing your feet as serenely
that settling into my arms we look across an ocean
reckless with what was our heart’s
- Ambiguity.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

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