a pool of bejeweled women
a burlap umbrella,
corolla'd skull and bones
sweet rain soaking fibers
and the laughter shaking
delicious rows of breasts
bright triangles of sentient pubis.
Faces staring tendrils
through the bleakness
of my former soul
searching me for
milks of ancient dawn
no king's hand
on no willing pawn
free people in a ring
of stone and water
we frolicked making sons and daughters.
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