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touchmehere

in the space
where reason rests
thistle guards the soul
as clover bursts
in lavender caress
wonder wills a morning song
of nightbirds to the wire
angels dare
to question
of sin so sweetly blessed

as scars endeared
by knowing
your kiss would taste
the same
where once before
vines were knotted ‘round
bloomed outside
the season
designated for release
prayer became a wing’ed sigh
as leaves were falling
down

. . .