Intimate, as a lover’s touch

The wind

Will not share

Its secrets,

It kisses

Every flower petal,

Soft as breasts,

Carrying away

The scent

And secret perfume,

Intimate

As a lover’s touch

In the open field,

Lingering

On a blooming rose,

Playfully,

Without shame,

And moving on

To never know

That rose again,

For neither

Wind nor rose

Will ever be the same,

And nothing

Stops the wind,

Not even rain.

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