Who is the one who sees
beyond the pond's ripple
past its reflection too
not as a view through water
or a even a view through you
you who contemplate me now
the one who reads and considers
past the one who writes
what power moves my hand
or even my imagination to have a hand
or my ability to love with passion
all of this fruit hanging low
that blossoms somehow near enough to reach
where I can embrace its sweetness
sucking its sacred nectar into me
as it drips across my virgin face
feeling the pulse of your skin
slithering like a silken snake upon mine
wondering where you end
and where I endlessly begin
or how my closed eyes can see God
reflected in the ripple of your eyes
past the reflection that I call you
where you touch my heart
and show me I am love
just as you are too
teaching me the answer
of he who sees
and knowing
it doesn't matter
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