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erotic poetry

the single clenched fist lifted and ready
those black eyes i once so praised
in all things not spoken of
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
god
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
sun and wind and beat of sea
one by one, like leaves from a tree
but i cannot read you now
through the broad earth's aching breast
within my hand i hold
let us express our baser passions

 



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