of the budding flower at dawn,
you flow like the dew that drips
from the pines, touching
the waiting, grass
tongue.
Like the quivering flower
in the breeze, so
does your skin
pebble at a
breath.
Light falls gently,
now gracefully highlighting
the subtle curves of the flower,
and you both devour
the warmth given
freely by its
love.
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