LatinosUSA

Oh! the stop
and the waiting with burning
can’t stop the meeting of water.

Can the priest
he with the chalice of silver supposing
invoke, cut, stunt, sever with signs
bridals that lovingly torture my mouth
purple and repurpose my soul?

In my breast buds the flower, 
the blossom of summer
opened with the focus
eye of white light
touch of my lover’s first kiss.

Leading me to lie
naked to prison 
a-dream on the branch 
of a water fed Willow

Where my mind
in the peace of this birthing
is the Shiva of Priest
whose truth less the robe
Is the wide-eyed Tom
In search of himself.