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perpetually darting away from the field of your horizon;
beneath this cloak,
I bury all my unsightly desires
ancient ruins of our endearment
under the brightly bruised tones
of uncontrollable wildfire
like merlot pomegranates kneaded with violence,
my cardium is pierced;
bleeding through barbwires
YOU ARE READING
Throes of Spring ✔️
Poetry[FEATURED] godhood is just like girlhood: a begging to be believed
