Sleeping was her heart, 

from the good and bad its known,  

sheltered in it’s exhaustion, bearing the sign, “temporarily closed”.

She mentally dreamt, to physically be present, 

in the rollcall, seated, 

by the sensual voice that whispered nightly, 

her name so discreetly. 

Visualizing to be aligned to his soulful beat, 

she tried rewishing upon previous stars, that could grant her this victorious treat. 

To ignore this quest would only punish her worst.

As depth defying, as never the chance of drink, to quench an unbearable thirst. 

 Holding it all in, denying it’s 

 full curse.

Like no one knowing your serenest place, and being carried there forever,  by a wind’s powerful gust.

Poetry By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose-Reblog

Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended.


4 thoughts on “Gust

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