Year 12 | 28 January 2020 | email@example.com
“I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul”
Song of Myself
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am toch'd from,
The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.
As Adam early in the morning,
Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep,
Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach,
Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,
Be not afraid of my body
Source: Walt Witman, Leaves of grass
by L. C.
07 september 2009, Food Notes > Food Tourism