Child, Unblemished

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Your eyes leave a trail of hot breath zephyrs

as they slowly climb, pools of milk settling

on a roving accordion tongue.

Little child, butterfly freshness, flowering bud

of a persimmon sunrise.

Your hands, buttoned to their white lily throats

in blankets of hair, curl protectively over

and over themselves, wreaths of lavender

tissue paper fashioned into ribbons.

Your heart, fickle beast, flitting daintily

between scores of warm bodies, shock

blankets of insulation against winters

of words.

Your love, child, is mine.

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