Kick My Angels

Clear days give way to
Closed doors under
Slow eyes around
Sleepy hands on top.

Reaching down to
Touch your face,
I sense a heat in
All I feel below me.

Sounds and spurs
Kick my angels
In the groin, so
Will they remember?

Lost fellows cork
The weird semblance
Of order unfurled
Like a tightly wound

Hurricane.

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Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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