You keep secrets on your tongue.
They age, mature, becoming tastier
than they ever were.
Music, wine, and prayers
are born in the soul.
There the meaning deepens.
It’s passion, not reason.
Kiss me, play a symphony,
sip the wine, kiss me again,
say the prayers with me.
Secrets will emerge one by one,
something different every time.
From: Short Poems On How We Ramble
Unpub. MS p. 79
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