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sad love poem

were it not for that singular smell
star-dust and vaporous light
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
rocked in the cradle of the deep
in mournful numbers
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
this is the arsenal
to some the fat gods

 



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