This biking... through the wind...

O this biking
Cutting the wet wind
Is like being
A spirit
As if taking me off
To Her moist drops...
O this breeze
Caressing me sans cease
Is like be ing
A bird
As if me flies sans sighs
To Her such a cool cloudy wet sky...
O this travel
Cutting stoney street
Is like her me meets
There as if like given to Her
my eternal, dreamy songy monsoony flowing River...
As She hath flown
Down that mountain so dormant
Yet so fiery inside...
Mt. Vesuvius kind...


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