Читать книгу The Last Poets - Christine Otten - Страница 13

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‘A.M.’ (1990)

That sound … What is that sound? So clean. So fluid. Emotions so hot in the passing of Summer into Autumn. The magnificence of awakening to something so rare … so new. Images dreaming softly in slow dances that wrap themselves tightly around our doubts.

I touch your face.

You touch mine. He is so tender with our needs.

So strong in our desire to be free. The definitions of his statement colors the skyline. He wa that one last feeling of logic before the needle punctured the vein. He was the music the morning after the resurrection of pain and prayers in the twisted honor and slight applause of demons and folk heroes stabbing us in the back.

He was a love Supreme.

He was a love Supreme.