Mark Heathcote

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryTen For The Ten Commandments (IP) well-wisher914 years 3 weeks ago
StoryNicknames for Aislinn Mark Heathcote414 years 6 months ago
StoryLove is the drug shoe814 years 6 months ago
Storyplease (don't ) marry me! shoe1514 years 6 months ago
Storythe affair shoe1314 years 6 months ago
StoryNo two people Mark Heathcote214 years 10 months ago
StorySpring Fever jennifer214 years 10 months ago
StoryEunectes Murinus Anna Marie314 years 11 months ago
StoryToothless Wander lenchenelf914 years 11 months ago
StoryHow royally Avant-garde am I? Mark Heathcote115 years 1 month ago
StoryNearly human (again) Nick.A315 years 3 months ago
StoryDo the British take their brollies? Mark Heathcote615 years 5 months ago
StoryVII Stanzas Mark Heathcote215 years 5 months ago
StoryA Lovely Day Jupiter1815 years 6 months ago
StoryThe Trouble with Grace Silver Spun Sand3015 years 7 months ago
StoryChaosity Kills jennifer216 years 1 month ago
StoryPenetrates jennifer116 years 4 months ago
StoryThe music of one’s love is deaf and dumb Mark Heathcote316 years 4 months ago
StoryA Cautionary Tale MistakenMagic216 years 7 months ago
StoryIn these cormorant hours spent swift Mark Heathcote216 years 8 months ago

My stories

Love will always find its catamaran

You say you’re glad that now we’ve reconnected: Introspectively, “I think anymore, takers” Then a dullards-thought: Doesn’t the sea play cupid.

When; winter does wrestle death..?

When; winter does wrestle death..? Snow lies falling with petals bereft. Her mantle a meadows white lily Uprooting stars in heavens pity. Veils of fine silk they’re too spun to order…

The garden

The garden is a living cell A Monet' of color and still reflection! Its life is onwards moving… But still like the sun forever in dusk or dawn: A theatre of hearts beating as one!

Lest his pilgrim, sins do not inaugurate…

…Unnerve mine-eye. That I might see! That hand that stirs... Upon an unequivocal; sky and sea… Lead me through thy lowly pastoral gate. Lest this nomad’s world; does not abate.

I blew the dust of his black velvet wings…

He touched me firstly in the sunlight… I touched him secondly on that moonlit night. Thirdly; he then touched that red velvet velour. It was then I’d lost count and we sang, amour…

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