are you waiting for me
to stand on the back veranda
& send you semaphores
well, smuggled lover, the only cove here is mine
these hands that sing for you
that would laid claim to you, as if buried treasures
grow enfeebled, waiting
Allow me to dispense with the subtleties...
can I collect all this silken sophistry
& make a bed for it, now
Come, lie with me--Iet me savour the brine.
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