the message

the feast, the joy, the rhythm of the poetry
are grounded with the golden quill of my all being

the time is bleeding in my nervures
back and forth like the message of the universe

my voice is echoed tenderly everywhere, —
asking you, – (want me?), (want me?), say it…

say you want me to tell you again what I told you once
when any season was dripping passion

say, and I'll tell you not once or twice but vastly times,
I Love You!

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