Ancient Melody

So strange the soft melody seeming
too soft for anyone else to hear
a strain so beautiful I wish I could share

Forward it rolls like tiny waves in a pool
that never quite reach the edge
an unending torture for cilia
pulsating ribbons reaching towards
a more solid stream yet gaining nothing
but whispering strands beyond my audible vision

A flute whispers in my ear
wrapping a lament around my head
it is an ode of ancient origin
in a tongue we no longer speak or hear
a language flickering to a rhythm best
resembling that inside my loins
the words with which I would gladly utter
an old conjure to sooth the glowing magma boiling
in a bottomless pool of menstrual blood.

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