Under Under Milk Wood
Plush, thick language smoothes
the balm of a Welsh lullaby
into my animated, agitated skin.
Waves of syllables roll over and through
my mewling soul; I've never been so owned
by a voice. He cuts his rhythm with claps
as espresso darts deliciously through crema --
cleverly cloven flicks of his tongue.
Humid beauty still breathes
and a kid gloved slap connects
with a shock and a smile.
I may love summer this year.
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