Years have passed, you’re still beautiful,
age brings deep rich hue to the wood,
the lathed curves of tender fingers,
delicious lines along the lithe
supple runs, breasts to abdomen

Inside of you – an Escher curve,
I traverse this rapture alone,
endure ice-blue twists, dip your soul,
to arrive at a lava melt
that cools and hardens, conceals you

To break through I let out a long bellow,
deep and rich resonance massages us,
you gradually soften to engulf me,
a warm blanket against fierce tempest wind
that will repel and expel me again

Once again,
yet again

In time droplets gather
Fine dew along the seam

A teardrop trapped in a lash
eventually falls

Chagall 2019

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