Touch me, once more

Long ago
I was a field
where poems sprouted
as stars in the nocturnal skin;
touch me, beloved,
make it so again,
again let your touch
in me become a womb
pregnant and birthing,
forever bringing forth
the simplicity of your word,
the warmth of your smile,
that paintbrush that paints me
more vibrant and life-filled
than a thousand thousand world.

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