Posted by: Ron DuBour | June 24, 2019





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As you hold out your hand to touch me
In tune with your breath that my name doth quietly spell
In whispers of a calming rain-soaked breeze
That swirls
Inside honeyed youth’s brimming clammy cell,
My bones clank like impatient Baisakhi blown temple bells
In eagerness quite a new story to tell;

Your looks surround me like a python
Around a supple body at the high-tech health spa
Where the streaming blood sings of a new Spring,
Your words in my soul
Always like a sacred hymn do ring;

You are the taste of a monsoon-soaked secret breath
That stirs seeds from long Summer death
You are my burns, my bruises
My hymn and my silent noises, my salvation and my faith.


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