Morning Sun
By morning sun,
We gracefully moved mountains with the fragility of our fingertips.
We bled so beautiful that we made the sky turn red.
By midnight moon,
Whispers burned in the isle of lips.
In the deepness of this old heart.
Let me breathe, let me drown.
The Redskin Poet 
Thumbs up Greg – you old heartbreaker.
On Thu, Aug 23, 2018 at 10:22 AM The Redskin Poet wrote:
> Greg Loon posted: ” By morning sun, We gracefully moved mountains with the > fragility of our fingertips. We bled so beautiful that we made the sky turn > red. By midnight moon, Whispers burned in the isle of lips. In the deepness > of this old heart. Let me breathe, l” >