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Sometimes the soul hungers,
Sometimes the hunger has a name,
the fragrance of boiling nards,
a deep touch that ignites dreams,
like our skins, searching for the corner.
In the half-light, desire peeps out,
a whisper that calls between shadows,
and the beating of two hearts,
like a wave that slips into the sea.
Sometimes the soul hungers,
on the horizon of a sincere love,
reflection of eyes, promise of the day,
in every heartbeat, the soul in eaves.