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whitman mashup

November 13, 2007

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice

.
short sleepy breaths rise over the covers
adorned by a soft dream
remembrances of you
me
life

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet

the nape of your neck
curving down to your back
a flicked tongue sets your sacrum a blaze
you awake to an explosion
steel laced with gossamer

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fenced heap’d stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed

this is love
this is love
this is love
you scream from your slumber
and dream turns to reality
and we are home

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