Everything is full of you:
I breathe you, my skin is bristling
when you wrap me
in the west wind.
I'll lick you in the salted
taste of tears
that touch my lips,
in this silent weeping
that sometimes snatches me away.
First you will be the wind
-and my skin will know it.
They'll be your hands later.
-I'll get up and I'll walk.
Your eyes will look at me later
-the tremor will take me to your pupils.
Finally, maybe, I'll know your name.
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mypoetry
