Out from your hands a dove
Flies out and touches my cheek
With your thoughts--like feathers
(your soft eyes)--from uplifting wings
And I am caressed as I stand, before you
A man, before you, while you sing
A strangely familiar song
It would seem
Either from our minds or in a dream
Your voice comes from my lips.
(c) Barry Ira Geller Febuary 14, 1983
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