She wrote sanskrit
In my thighs

and spoke of her need
For gentle everything

And a lover for craving
The soft of all of earth’s crusts

In her many guises
Even the moon fails to discuss

We spoke of libran moons
And taurus risings

Until her dog
Old, brazen and golden

Took her dor a trip outside
under the stars

She spoke my language


And asked graciously
To drink my essence

Before leaving this time
For another slumber

Inside of me
Her gods spoke

To inconquerable gods
Inside of me

Mercy child

Unchosen poet

You know
The one….

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