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Poetry || SubmissionsFour Love Poems by Bob Monahan+her heat+ the grass blows over; bent toothpicks in this white-dry heat. whispers of moistness slip through skin-dry lips. a seasons' worth of dust showers has clogged the tub, and you stand ankle deep - almost planted. new smell the morning (comes) staring past you an alfalfa field (just mowed) sways in time with your breath. it's greens like that (will) make your smell sweet. nudged awake your senses wind up and realize me; a new scent (comes) enters and lips curl toward the wide floor boards together we smell the cows now, too. untitled is the golden light yet reached you? has the weight of today come? is the outlook good? will you tell? no, really, all the day is here at once all the light, too and as for wagers we can all take sochny she wore a name on her side and guessed at the addresses of persons crossing into her line of fate. it believed in her - though giving confidence to the rumors of her being. late this morning - early last night - running the faucets hot and cold floating down the hill through himself (the fog) and being shocked into mouthing the name, quietly. bob monahan writes that he is a 29-year-old artist living in washington, d.c. with an education in engineering and art. Today's Situation
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