Your eyes cannot your love
Nor hands belie gentle moods
Your very breath in syncopated
Moves in concert with heaving
      breast, exudes
Your very soul, peninsular and
With all the seas that mold your
      mortal being,
Shape the tenderness expounded
By your smile, your passion, your
     joy beyond all seeing.
Who shall receive this packet,
     rich and fair?
Would he be worthy of the golden
Extruding from every pore and
     without care
Heals those whose fortunes
     summon stroking palm
Inebriating sentences long ago
To pacify the ills that strangle
     future’s calm?
I am he who seeks that longing
To encumber me with all of you
That I am not worthy to embrace
Living eternally with never the
     thought of final adieu
                   jon jacobs

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