On the Poet’s Celebration of His First Boko-maru 92

These are not Bokonon’s words. They are mine.

Sweet wraith,

Invisible mist of…

I am—

My soul—

Wraith lovesick o’erlong,

O’erlong alone:

Wouldst another sweet soul meet?

Long have I

Advised thee ill

As to where two souls

Might tryst.

My soles, my soles!

My soul, my soul,

Go there,

Sweet soul;

Be kissed.

Mmmmmmm.

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