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Rated: E · Poetry · Arts · #1321329
I don't know.
Bright lighted marabout,
May I send my helper along?
For I fear the heavens
Have begun watching
The elegance of departure

And rapture becalm her breath!
Rampant malaise staring serenly
As though fearlessness was no longer
Callow
And distance would now be bewildered
With the beauty of her sigh

Rumble as if Jarir was scrawled for the quake
As though Sordello forgot his song,
And let weary concha lay
Where the poem may breath
Its ancient dialect
Along the nerves of my mind

Bubbling with hands in her stars
And scars light up in tiny glows
Frames upon the black, dried on her
A rap along the skin of her thigh

Mache and pink strewn about the sun
Above her shoulders lay blood
Puckering and lips gurgling
Sprays falling from the wound
In the throat of her mouth
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