Blankets off- there I am in the world

that wakes up in the club, in Israel, from the tree house,  Big leaves to wear.

our hearts, deep inside the endless hush, the purr, the buzz is the sound of love. 

is the melody between centuries

who speaks in touches. That whistler who hears the more we wind-suiters cannot help but play her greenish-gray praise like, “wish, wish for this.”

Whose hum is near, whose sound is forever.

The corners of my veins- Electromagnetic, freezing, sending messages of Love, telepathy, be not afraid

Little Drummer, I will run a far as possible from marching bands and rock and roll. When my womanly parts are heard directly, wait. She may say something.

You are the One who you are, not who you used to be.

How are you, Love?