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The literature of the Dravidian coast,
A knowledge the charcoal can boast,
The dark hairs piled up like a fortress,
Around the diamond
Incandescents your exploits.
A black foam where a comet can roam,
My sullen fingers fantasize,
The cheeks grow red in the dark mangrove,
The cheek desires its prize.
The beard spreads like a wild fire,
Along the intrepid jaw,
That exercised a hundred insurgence,
Making love to its halcyon glow.
Winter arrives in my hibernation,
The shave when you embrace the tabula rasa,
Memories soak under your brunette epidermis,
My fingers flaunt their newfound script.
A slow circle and an arc,
I feel the hairs breathe within,
The beard will grow and I shall know,
My body will not starve again.
The gnarled hairs grow like the alveolar consonant,
Writing the phonetics of vigour,
All of a sudden, my door is stolen,
My body shivers in the enclosure.
Deep, dark hairs with a French zest,
A comfort cradle where my eyes can rest,
A tickle, a kiss and promises of a rebellion,
The red tongue wets the fecund,
To unleash the deep dark moon.
The beard beams in your epic prowess,
Tales to be praised through time,
I see the beard adorn your face,
The rest is all in my rhyme.