Fullness of time

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Everything fresh
turns stale
and all that stale
turns into
hidden wealth
of life-giving
tiny tickles
Everything that covers
turns pale
as colours fade
when comes the sun
shining
The fading patches tell
their story
to the shadows 
that steal up 
in the shining sun
In fullness of time
my flesh ripe and taut
will wither 
and you will then 
hear the whisper
that every curve 
softly left to caress
your soul.