what in god’s earth has happened
for her body is all of the fertileness of milk glands
she has her purr resoundingly into me
the landscape of her presence
vista-rewards my sensory intake
as if I am land
that an ocean of her surrounds are upon me
every breath-in of mine is the joy-field
of making angels in fresh snowfall snow
the tall redwoods of her close-nit forest of hair
exudes a visual perfume
with a trance-like effect from its sway and bounce
any conversation makes kindling
for the validation of imaginary into real
there is a tingling of buoyancy from her touch
not pointy but field present
as if ocean swaying beneath me
I now have eyes
that reside further back from within me
like my heart can see out and into hers
as when the ocean first sees full-moon-rising
or when the first spring snow melt
finally meets the roots of hungry trees
there is the pleasure of dawn and dusk
but never like this as into a lightness of my being
my life had the criss-cross of purpose and direction
but I now have the weave of becoming me
what her as a mirror reflects
I did not ever know of myself in calling
she is the cross between epitomize and exemplify
and I am in her emotional crosshairs
featuring landmarks of my devotion
and intimacies of my affection
I am beside myself
and literally in her land of my becoming
for I must clearly be
in the coma from her rapture . . .
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