the message
the feast, the joy, the rhythm of the poetry are grounded with the golden quill of my all being the time is bleeding in my nervures back and forth like the message of the universe my voice is echoed tenderly everywhere, — asking you, – (want me?), (want me?), say it… say you want me to tell you again what I told you once when any season was dripping passion say, and I'll tell you not once or twice but vastly times, I Love You!
