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I will go to hot winds with ragged breath,
When browns and blues made rich bedfellows,
And tempers fueled fires and raged into the night,
And soft dreams seemed full of purpose.
There the oil of youth, the endless wealth,
Was open and playful, all knowing and shameful,
Full of dark, wicked riches, when love was empty,
When the sky was open and waiting.
I will go to soft sands and rough winds,
Those narrow paths, damp with heat,
Toxic with sweetness and glory,
When love was easy and the world was ready.
Tagged: Issue FIve, Love, poetry, Theo Martin, Winter 2015