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erotic poetry

i fill this cup
i have heard that a certain princess
rocked in the cradle of the deep
why are the things that have no death
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
i am in love with high far-seeing places
beautiful
in and of itself
from floor to ceiling
noises that strive to tear
in their ragged regimentals
she heard the children playing in the sun

 



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