The slits on my Arms

At the traffic light
Of my life,
When you caressed my hair
And touched me
Through slits of my cherry shirt
With gentle silky finger,
As if there were a rose framed
In each small window on my arm —
I drank your sounds deep
Of awakening roses,
Light flowed sky blue
From your eyes
And flooded all
The shimmering tongues
At the source
Of my being.

By Anonymous

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