Comments about Brian Wood
under a dying sun along
the beach, the winds' breath
opens the sand and I turn to
you and I reach - I reach for
your soft and gentle hand.
your blue eyes sparkle clear
as the sky, then as your lips
like waves touch my face,
nights' darkening blanket covers
where we lie, and loves' little
pleasures come to know this place.
the sun meets death, our love
meets birth, we dig caves in the
sand, we hide, our love sprouts
forth from Gods' own earth,
and in each other our feelings confide.
we introduce love to the still
night air, slivery fingers of...