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That Touch
Sometimes in that touch that
Physically never happens,
The cherries, the plums,
The berries that come
Sweet in their season,
Cradled in the clutch
Of love and mystery,
Safe and secure
Probabilities behind the
Gates of impossibilities,
We dance and caress
Naked lovers in the
Shower of star dust
And flowers never
Seen before.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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