L’envoi

bohemian-bridal-gowns

All the words in me bloom for you. At night these roses howl at the moon. Come dance with me in the garden beneath ancient stars, and I’ll throw the petals of my skirt around you, love you in the dark, as the wild things we rarely admit we are.

About thepoetsglass

Professor, poet, philosophical dilettante, plus some other impressively heady alliterations. Instructional designer and copywriter. Cognitive neuroscientist by night. Self-diagnosed coffee addict, sometime dancer, brooding bibliophile, and an always salty sailor.
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