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The Shape Of Our Fever

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Bring the willow’s shadow to me
as the autumn winds sigh
where the green fingers
of twilight dance
a slow waltz

against the nakedness
of my waiting skin
where whispers
become your hands
until you find the wet 

pulsing like a river-song.
where my lips trembles
becoming a cathedral
between syllables
bring me to my knees

under the willow’s grace
where we dissolve
into the long blue dusk
until the bark remembers
the shape of our fever

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