The
Body
(like a lamp)
The painter grabs you,
By your lines,
To the exotic rivulets of life.
You are my unblemished canvas,
Brimming with all joyous hues,
Never escape my long fingers,
Who spread you over the canvas,
On a full-moon night of our dreams.
After re-incarnation the painter is a priest,
You are the spotless chalice,
Which is full with wine,
And together we wait-
for the crucial Tran-substantiation.
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