writing passes by and’s forgotten
it always means most to the writer
do they even know what’s been poured out
can they imagine the dance floor in the heart

words dancing cheek to cheek
swaying to the rhythmic beat
of the life experienced by the heart

read with your glass in hand
ready to take in what’s poured out
ready to take the next dance
and sway to the rhythm of one’s heart

poured out
emptying of all
to be filled
by more of life
more of love
more of God alone


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