He longs for her jealously,
his for hers.
Empty it gropes, in fulness it finds,
hers for his, she for him.
Arise from your torched wax museum,
O concubine of *s*t*a*r*s*,
O circumcised stone, fear no more
Remembering, etch-a-flesh open love letter,
all he promised her and all he commands.
Templed treasure-chest of hope,
virtue of virtues throne room,
bedspread cleansed for her master
monarch.
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