O Mexico

I ache for touch,

for whispers and lace,

I ask  you don’t

judge my age or  shape,

I am man, primal,

alive with a million

songs in my loins,

It did’t bother M who

loved Merton

a holy one,

I too have read the

Song of Songs

and have chanted

the psalms pre-dawn,

I wait for the hot wind

of Mexico to kiss my

skin.

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