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Photo Courtesy of Panoramio

You summoned me six fold white art for an ark, and belabored me questions of favor. The blessing of passion, divining a core, a cost of the treasure of labor. Why mass me together and feel with my heart, why guess at your creations endeavor. The stillness around me instinctual law, the call that still echoes forever. Historical pathways, an altar for kisses, a cut on a rose when I’m tender. Affective deflection what is, or is hidden, your spirits of senses forbidden. You’ve spoken of tortures that break into wounds of tender young lovers lost in a swoon, beauty worth stolen under the moon, and still do they not find my pleasure.

Six times you struck me, and asked for a sense, a body to warm you with love as a gift, while interest is building on life as a breath, a common affection with G-D in your wound. What curse of emotion, religion as farce, to say loves a feeling, that’s felt in your heart, a stranger seduction that cuts when it’s done, allegiance to feeling, not owing to none. Six times did you travel, and fail in your mind, and still you did not find love an answer, division of grace, a grief of black lace, a flame, a psalm lost in shame, by the talons of raptors.

In six beats a rhythm, a time of true might, a place of instinct formed before night, a constant that keeps now forever. A point, a plot by six times forever, a love of law written in charm, by craft, by skill in sound before dawn by ether. A touch, a start, indefinite shine that lifts me from my knee, and breaks me now a man, not so clever. A puzzle, a gift, six times a seal, a star, that open heart, now wrapped forever. –דָּנִיֵּאל – 05.03.2014

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