The lights are out, again
combing through sanguine
heights, floating in
gentle southern winds,
tiny beats of the heart,
fluttering inside the soul,
down a dark step, caressing your
cheek, along honeyed curves,
in the summer
night, still clinging to the
morning's edge, between
truth and monsters grasp, Death
promiscuous in the glassy-eyed
stare of the midnight
priest.
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