The days are warm
and the nights are wet.
I get excited by
the way you hold me
in your hand,
the way you desire
something that I have only dreamed
of opening,
of unpacking,
of experiencing you experience.
I sense the sand's soft surf,
the stringy, streaky soarings
of the sundered
from the sensuous,
the straggling
from the stars.
Fake my hand.
The lake is my heart.
Break nothing
except the fears you have
that render my soil barren
my soul impenetrable.
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