the ripened and the wise( the marriage of Figaro and Indigo climbed )
italian
northern
smoothed
river stoned
tumbled from where
mountains lay tongues
in dark fertile nooks
with glass as most liquids do
danced as if catching long grasses in the undulations of gravity
and memory and stirred pot witches
wisking ovaries into the Sun
finding every kind of vine
blooming in each palate we please
inside where we gently squeeze
the smiles we ease
into what we harvest
in the rain...
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