Both lotus and love command
the same: “Look and see!”
From that Word the lotus
to the world has sprung,
after Kabir I sing and cant.
For the morning love of mine
got a burgeon for her mouth
folding pistils amid petals,
the finest and most delectable
vintage hatching down inside.
To be gilded, honeyed, spiced
by a sunshine and its pollen dust.
From that Word a whole new world
and opus of her lotus have just come.
By the fainting descant of the drunken
eyes as they blaze and roll and glisten.
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