The Year of Your Touch
I follow your touch,
a fire & gold
Chinese dragon
frantic
on deserted side streets,
searching
for
the electric smell
of pleasure.

Hunting Butterflies
Caught
in the fall of wind,
one last thought
brushed past
a damp neck
settling
in whispers
of jasmine & grass.

In Tohoku
Across the crimson thread
a tension.
Touch and whisper above
the moans of lonely frogs.
Silver bamboo sighs
to the ninth moon.
I will love you here
amid mysteries of rice
and the aroma of water.
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