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a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
i have heard that a certain princess
and breaketh bread no more
if the red slayer think he slays
lady, your heart has turned to dust
out of the sparkling sea
i said
stir
this is the arsenal
there was a strangeness on your lips
you say you love me
i shake my hair in the wind of morning

 



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