The voice that is in her is shaking. With head full
of blood, passionate, love, each piece of surrounding, love
her arms, how they rise of ease. Om
bare feet to dark grass, easy heart, the sruti box hums,
consumes edges, think of kissing, the voice
is a pleasant mirage hanging, an array of colorful curtains, transparencies, a
such dream. Anywhere or nowhere,
long with her, the sound of shaking winds out of the woman.
Any spine can be perfectly still, or
contort like jelly.
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