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Mar 2012
Hear the crying of the moon
The silent scents that stray
Quiet clocks at noon
Bewildering the day

And in the soft caress
Of the jewelled dawn
Gold, red, amber
Make ready to be gone

Brush your hand across my tingling skin
With its scented shade
Feel its soothing touch
All reality to fade

There is no end, I think, of kissing
Palms move with pilgrims’ tender touch
My breath fast and glistening
Never have I felt such want so much

In your arms there is delight
Like stars in a dark black painted night
Whose moon casts, such peculiar light
That all fantasy takes to flight

In the heaven of your face
See your colour, cream, pink trace
Feel the beautiful embrace
Take me to another place

Tenderness of touching greets my smile
I drink you in all the while
Tasting your soft risen sun
Another day has just begun

We are not really two
But are one
Edgar Whitman Wilde
Written by
Edgar Whitman Wilde
376
 
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