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'The Scent Of These Armpits Is An Aroma Finer Than Prayer' (Walt Whitman)

I dreamed.
I woke in tenderness.
I dreamed of tenderness
as a ripe plum squirting
down my beard – tenderness
that turned to tide
which flowed through both of us
and in which we floated
through our cuddle-space
wherein our snug adhesion

the unseen ballet of our tongues
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Francesca Johnson 17 May 2006

Attracted by the unusual title! I wasn't disappointed, there are some original lines in this one. I want a 'cuddle space.' Love, Fran xx

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