I've trembled underneath the vibrant touch
of her soft fingers. The patterns of the shells
and the lapping of the ocean, the soft couch
holds her warm body and I begin to smell
her neck under dark hair. The words are spelled
by the stars, the light falls down and I taste
the heavens gratefully. The ocean swells
with the light of the Moon: the quiet artist
counting out months. I trace around her waist
and hip, I hear her breath, I start to see
the purple of a new dawn. She is the pace
of the morning bird's song, the wide sea
cannot contain her. I squint through the sheer
veil and then testify to what I've heard.
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