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Click hereThere are forces unseen
except by the sensuality
of their signature,
the erections of their inspirations.
(your ragged breath, my rustling branches)
My world is written with you,
your ink and ebb and flow,
invisible script under lid
and root and rock and sole.
(your retreating torrents, my smoothed stones)
If I could pump my poetry
into your lovely mess of vessels
so that you could see, not poems,
but poetically, would you open
that vein to me?
(your arced horizons, my curled fingers)
If you listen to Kabir, as he compels,
you will find that swelled
well of vessels feeding
your infinite heart flooded,
before yesterdays, with my seed.
(your gathering heat, my rising ashes)
*for my Selena