Clay circles that allows
my hands to almost touch
ribbed startle of your
Soul in flight

That permits my breath
snake's tongue
to probe inside echoes
of a time you weren't so
sad and mocking

Wing tips brushing
floating face down
in keenness
of memory
I join lines running rivers
of peyote
stretch skin across a
stone sphinx
silently relive the
enigma

Please share the warm embrace of my new Poetry book:
108 Bhakti Kisses, The Ecstatic Poetry of a Modern Day Gopi
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