Walk with me through the arbor of light
Of a harvest moon on a frosted night,
Our breaths will mingle as our arms embrace
And we'll warm our cheeks, face to face.
We'll rustle the leaves with our booted feet
And make the owl hoo from the sycamore tree;
We'll breathe the smoke scent lacing the air
And care not for the world we left back here.
In the predawn hours during a solitary ride on her ranch, Montana Freeborn collides with Seth Phoenix, centaur-turned-man and the embodiment of her psychic visions.
Zara’s Bois:
When the powers-that-be make the decision to return a selfish party-girl to Earth on three missions of redemption, can romance and mayhem be far behind? One hot and trendy gay nightclub, two bickering angels and three unlikely p
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Ron
budd
Great closing line to a very well written poem.