It is the cool glide of ink
That leads her-
Hand goes heart-ward
Breeding, kneading
The toughness from its flesh:
The beat is back.

It is him, the moon, cool pull
Dragging the blood through her veins.
The tide is crimson and
Thick, thicker than ocean.

The sorrow has ebbed,
the storm has stilled.
The stars are ageless
In his eyes
The sky is blue curls around
His fingers.

His voice flows in waves
The room leans in.
His words gently bend us
Trees in wind
The Earth is softer now.

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