by virtue of dint
you loved me to my face
in port of nourishment
eyes but ears closed so
when texture tasted of
where teeth bore witness to
the tongue vogue segue
than why magique
was born of the inconsistencies
in our languages
wrought from potent liminality
the irony of sexes
insteaded patterns in the lapping
dispelled in shared breath
for the clumsy
drooly eyed love
you loved
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