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38 suns rise from your swollen seas
scintillant like the unblinking hangnail of a glorious moon
or the pungent blood-tang of the cut Acacia
I gawk like a flower at your blossoming suns
My petals waving like frenzied masts
But there is no wind, not a whisper, nay a drop
There is a still sea around us.
I wait like the Acacia.
Pregnant with unalloyed lusts
for everyinch of you.




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The following comments are for "My unalloyed lusts"
by Shakti





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