Here Is A Cut Always Full

There is a cut always full, you know and it's always. Filled day and night and with love, must it show. Even and being such as the tide when it turns. So must the moon and from such heat, given up. The plump fig full of seed as it runs wet slowly down, and the tree from which it comes, just makes more. Turning from what some think is ugly, i gather both up. Ripe full breasts and gently squeezed, each is turned. As the unborn child instinctively knows it must inherit. There is a cut always full, you know it never will heal.