Goddess Grip

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White hot thoughts burn tracks inside
traveling through silky crease.
Heated with desire.

Engraved in scarlet,
with verdant fiery heart,
she arises as Spring’s harlot.

Tempest born in windy hollow
suffers not Grief’s reckless intrusion.
Rising fires of deep desire find
their resting spot in his furnace,
conjoined in fire.

Brightest holy place of sacred reflection,
hidden not from Goddess grip.
Whispers on Wind’s tail summon
union’s bliss,
ready to receive,
made to give.


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