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Rises from him like the depths of a river
-- the waters rumbling over a pebbly shore

His accent, like the smooth brown pebbles,
fixates my attention tempting me to look for more

But pebbles can be picked up and observed,
only, his voice stops when I get near enough to explore

-   -   -
My fingers on his lips, his eyes speak consent, and
feeling daring, I go in for a taste of what I was looking for

finding the remnant of the nectar of his words
I reflect that the sound of his voice will never be a bore

The sound of his voice is an enigma
that resounds in the depths of my core.

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