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For Elizabeth
She enters
my senses
in spaces
so small
that language
cannot chart
the contours
of her every gesture.
I become
the new Adam
exploring landscapes,
whose darkness
is the light
I hear in the fragrance
of her voices.
My hand opens
and closes
upon wisdom
that I discover
in the rise and fall
of her breathing.
At night, our bodies
become spoons,
and nothing
in this realm
can match
the logic
of her eyes,
whose gazes
strip me naked
with new clothes.
- Frank Varela
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