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The poet in me washes away
The calling card of the hero
Fades away like age
Tossing the leaves in the summer breeze
For the old people
With my hand
I look at the secret spot of poets
It's under a sycamore tree
Full of metaphor and rhyme
My hand is raking leaves
As I search for my deeply buried
Poetry
American Beauty- Grateful Dead
  Jan 2019 Ashley Chapman
Lora Lee
conquer me
with your words,
for I am a poet
     of soul
my mind as open
as my spread thighs
my lotus aching
to welcome
your sword of gold
Unsheathe.
Come close.

until there is no light
between us
for inside grows
a luminance,
             ever-burning
as sharp as ghost pepper
as soothing as
spilt milk
on petalsilk skin
as nourishing as
the stillness
of secret ponds
let us spin our tongues
into lava flowers
as we call forth courage
from the sunken
mists
   of
       time
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