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Sharpen your blade
Turn my face East
A lamb in your hands
Bless me, curse me
Give me your poetry

Your gait speaks
The way rain dances
For wet and trembling
virile soil, speaks in
whispers to my
fertile soul
A hunger and a
Milk and honey storm

Your essence is like perfume
And my soul wears it
Like a ****** wears virtue
Intoxicated by
The mere scent of knowing you
My spirit moves to it, madly, taken
Writes love songs
On holy walls
your essence is like perfume
It lingers and fades

— The End —