Rouche
Victorious Orchard {of} Filled {in} Oblivion,
My lined
Bitter Fountain {of} drowned Light
{in} soft trantrum.
Loafing Homeland
of Marble Smut.
Your
Closed eyes smelling weeping
And Still
On certain solitary sheets, circumstances, singing roll through the streets
And, as well, Many other
Moaning happy Things of this Sort.
Fallen Things, Medaled acts of Tenderness,
Quickly Followed By
Retreating bite marks, hard and rough through my Plastic Shoulder.
Covered with Lust Blood and Death, my Shattered Lip of Threatens.
Clothing me with Shirts of red and defeated mourning,
I have only the Dawn, with you.
For the Devil has your Eyes
By Evening.
-thend-
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