No whisper
of woman
accompanied
the desiring loneliness
of my adolescent days.
No rib came out
of my clay.
Then a leaf
of exquisite fragrance fell
and in my breast became
most loving flesh,
vibrant flame,
vein of transfusion
for all time.
Then the seed
of the only-begotten
was sown.
I moisten you with my mouth,
woman,
I knead you to myself.
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