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- Beth Morgan
Posted August, '06 |
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One hand traces the lines of another.
Fingertips meet, pause, move on.
I drink in the texture of your skin,
The shape of your bones, the will of your flesh.
Who is the giver and who is the receiver?
The question enters the circle that is both song and singer,
Movement and muscle, lover and beloved, and is lost.
The song sings the singer, the hands reach
And find each other, singing.
We are the song, and the hands are moving us,
And I am lost in the dance.
I cannot remember which part of the circle I am. |
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