I think I'll drag
myself to the back-door
slammed shut,face forwards
& cry
afraid the tears being dragged
will form only a puddle
by the architrave
So to sleep
I search for you now
Now, you're inside my head
I will try to dream in sequence
fuss and fondle
the consequence
I can be that holographic whore
with hips to die
for, or that angel with wisdom
seen, but never heard before
For in sleep
I can be unseen, unclean, utterly obscene
devil-come-angel-whore
Locked out, inside her only back-
door, to open to my soul
Should sleep take control
slammed shut, face forwards
If I cry out in my dreams
Please don't think I'm obscene
I may just be at my door
wiping up puddles
Maybe I'll dream in thunder
storms of splendour
Downpour to my back door
Let me sit there
on the stoop
& cry


I don't know what to say, I wish I could give y a ahug and make ya feel better
I love yuo Gill
and









OH, GILL!!! This is a very intense, enjoyable write you've done...such vivid, visual imagery...impeccable word choice, the flow of an overflowing, rapid~filled River under siege...wow, my Friend...a beautiful penning from a lovely, wise Poet...Good to read you, my Friend...will be back ASAP...Take care of you...missin' our R&B dissertation!!! hehehe
Wanda




7 old applause
