Which story did you weave of me way-farer?
I wrapped cloud blankets on smouldering desires
You kindled smug rains in untouched kisses of fire
But who built those temples of goosebumps, ocean waves
When I fashioned you, me, and we of two knaves
We drew then nectar from forgotten poems of fingers
Lips to skin, earth to moon, that night's fragrance lingers
Tomorrow is a strange planet, oh how old is its moon!
My pages lie open in dreams of a secret silver tune
Word-blender, yellowed-corner-pleasure for a reader;
Which story will you write, dear way-farer?
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