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marriage poem

the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
three years ago today
as evening falls
the little white prayers
are you awake?
death's nobility again
are you alive?
no prey am i of poor thoughts
i am fevered
there is an hour of peaceful rest
glooms of the live-oaks
now while my lips are living
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room

 



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