You will pour down me
like water and wine
- from cool summer rains -
down the sunburned throats,
laughing children,
too young for the burn that
fills the stomach
and makes the minds open
and turn
as the pages of a farietale.
Your voice will be
like candlelight.
Making everything soften
after a lifetime of florescence
blaring to expose
every hurt
etched across the body.
And you
will make me beautiful.
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