Song of Song of Songs

Song of Song of Songs
Redundancy at its best
Literary hope

The winnowing fork
Taken to the threshing floor
Finding my soulmate

To court like a man
In no traditional sense
With Bible and dreams

I write of flowers
Unparalleled in the fields
Solitary grace

I speak of true love
In hallways of libraries
Buried within books

To find a lover
To whom I could write all day
And be with all night

The perfect woman
Patient enough to find me
In my midday sun

With no veiled purpose
Needing no veiling at all
These are my (wishes/prayers)

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