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prose poetry

my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
high walls and huge
beneath my window in a city street
beautiful
simplicity
my sorrow, when she's here with me
with lips blood red and heart of stone
the sun is up
in mournful numbers
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
for these white arms about my neck
long ago, in the young moonlight
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
tell me

 



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