ask me on another day
so how does one accord a woman
all the due respect that being the
receptacle of all our tomorrows
deserves
allowing in a quiet way the lust to grow
to transmute the female form’s beauty
inherently hormonal into
the tides that push to the foreshore of
an understanding that these feelings
are an reciprocating engine
remorselessly turning the seed in the
hay fields of the autumn for springtime
for tomorrow gestated long and hard
the lessons on the banging desks the
aphorisms pen inscribed deep
the growing realisation that nothing
was nothing all along that those feelings
are written in the closed clouds of eyes
timed to open as the buds of longing only
to be closed in the seed pods once again
just one more time i ask you
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