( / Lynchburg, Virginia)

Shoulder Of Sin (Trine)

He storms away in a caliginous cloud of thunder.
His chilly kiss leaves me with a curious sense of wonder.

In a palm of tears of disbelief, I cannot find the reason.
How is it love can be so true and then commit such treason?

The wind portends a coming storm; the night sleeps in my skin.
The branches tap - a finger's crook - begging to come in.

A black rain falls; emotions rise. I cannot keep them under.
A cry of love is a cry of love, no matter the time nor season.
His midnight ocean of hair curls over the shoulder of his sin.

by Linda Marie Van Tassell

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