Lover, see from outside how I flame
within, how the scattered-golden warm
light licks your breast. Lover, a mere poem
does not do justice. Another recited poem
is drawn into the light, consumed by flames
and floats in air like ash. Lover, a warm
tabernacle awaits me, inside the warmth
of your love I blossom. I sing the poems
religiously and meditate on the flame:
a flame breathing warmth into a poem.
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