Mistress of the bodily balm,
emitting tactual grace that anoints my flesh with unfamiliar calm,
healing me with her nuanced and nimble touch,
my twisted tissue now in her caring clutch.
Though her anxious patient taut lies and tensely fidgets,
each knot and gnarl she kneads away with her demure, deft digits,
and on my dermic surface she smears a cryptic unguent potion,
stilling by her cult my nerves' live-wire motion.
And so attended by a priestess of this pathic guild,
my members were solaced where my spirit was chilled,
and where my soul bled weeping through my skin,
my body whole was made by the magic of this therapeutic jin.
Yet remains an ache far deeper than by her art's devices she can earnest reach,
the way to which none but Love can show and teach,
and to none it shall its secret e'er impart,
save her whose wound this is within my heart.
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