to wind your hair between my fingertips,
to touch peripheral nerves that strike to my heart;
gentle strands,
soft closeness,
... I see a streaming light from above clouds which swirls over your delicate skin,
philosophically
hidden by our secrecy in beds
and behind paintings;
Lover, a memory that is eternally a birthmark upon my soul,
a dream unseen, recurring,
imagined under a sunken dense sky of velveteen gods eyes and dark heavens,
when I wind your hair across my palm.













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