Petrichor 3
we breathe the same air
but I'm not who you think i am
someone else is wearing my face
writing poems
in your sleep
over the mountain, the sun rises
lifting heavy eyelids of earth
it is morning, the dance begins,
the abalone night has fled with
beggars and thieves
the white lotus opens to reveal
the Buddha of Compassion
rising in a gown of crystal skin
i peel the onions and crack the eggs
straighten out the closet
in which we hide our dreams.
you go now, my love, we'll meet
again when the day ends and
I'll be the goddess on your tongue,
coiling to strike,
you are the poem I touch with a thousand
sighs,
let us begin to rain.
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