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Little hands

I hold onto your little hand
and feel the stories untold
a bond ancient
and your eyes take hold
be it into the night
or into the vivid day
I will always hold your little hand
onto the blackest of frays.

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.

Throes of Passion

Your eyes have spoken such disdain
amidst the berth that we have lain
the silken flesh porcelain
scented petals from within.

The poesy without word
from lips claret unfurled
such passion in the midst of throe
and breathless strewn among the woe.

Lay we now dipped in the ink of our eyes
into the pools of acquiescence, our demise
I press my soul up against yours
I wilt away into the gloomy core
the rhythm in my heart no more…

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.