No Rhyming, No Timing

No Rhyming, No timing, no longer wax on love.
Unless it's brotherly love.
Or hate to love.
Or..... Something of and esoteric sense.
Assuring no cadence.

A recondite touch, Man to woMan.
More sacred than King Solomon's secrete handshake.
Few men know of it, Women either.
But she feels it unaware.
Like a strong drug in the wrong hands,
It can hurt, scar, kill.
As rare nectar used for love.
It can make life worth living.

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