My Woman’s Gift

My woman gives a gift of words to me
Each one she consecrates between her lips
She blows them from her mouth and sets them free
Or presses them from warm, wet fingertips

She draws her words from heaven and from hell
Aligns them with a will that makes me sweat
I’ve been aligned by her like that as well
I know exactly what her words will get

My woman wraps a bow around each word
As if it was her hair she’s tying back
The bareness of her neck has been infered
A revelation all my poems lack

Then on her gift of words my kiss descends
Ensuring that the passion never ends

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