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The Memory

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The Memory

I had thought to capture—the moment,
however fragile or fleeting,
and feel it move between the palms of my hands.
Soft and silent, like a moth
with wings fluttering–yet frightened
as it searches for light in the darkness of my skin

Charles Coakley Simpson

Feathers

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Feathers

When I hear    the sound
of sadness.     And the light     is broken
by the silence.    Of the trees.
I know    all the birds      have flown     Away.
Their wings like words     whispering
Your     name

Charles Coakley Simpson

After the Rain

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After the Rain

When once tears did fall–
that we were embraced by the joy of intimacy,
and yet the deluge which befalls us now
is not for the want we have of holding each other still,
but that we never held each other
Enough

Charles Coakley Simpson

Twilight

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Twilight

The bridge between
dusk and dawn
is merely the distance
transversed
from my lips to yours

Charles Coakley Simpson

Thistles

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Thistles

Might the thorn
be as fragrant as the flower,
that the paradox of love is in the irony of its pain.
Thus I am drawn into a garden of thistles
where even the rose is entangled within its vine
that I cannot deny my passion
for beauty

Charles Coakley Simpson

Comprehensive

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Comprehensive

It has been long–I think, since I held you.
And wrapped myself warmly
Within the soft, white blanket of your skin.

Charles Coakley Simpson

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