It's cold yet warm
When your whisk mounts through my being
The mirror jitters
As I give myself to this kneading
I live for your kiss
Knowing it may yet never come
The napkins darken, in fear of a second son
Mind washed betwixt interim transit
Silence brooding, this messianic gambit
Lushed by your immutable brush,
These prayers now bleat candid
And then I smile, knowing my wish has been granted
And then I rise, knowing my pride has been fastened
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