Lasting, provincially possessed by whom, I ponder
might one ever touch the velvet of blood shot filaments.
Ever be warned that I am seven dresses taller,
I have written our silver names into sidewalk cement.
Do not recall if we were even beings with
our flimsy wires and chests of vague nonsense.
The greatest clarity of minds, remarkable rates.
Yet, nonetheless, eventually of prideful discontent.
No Kings in what castles, no wings on which angels.
Firstmind reveries dreamt them until they ran colorless.
Rather transient were our hearts as they throbbed.
Empty was our substance, solid our ignorance.
Mixing fresher air with gemming hopes.
Conceptions, its irises, flooded phosphorescence.
Extending coquetries and your mask's exaggerations.
No cease in blix-eyed surprise, a fading luminescent.
Dying, provincially possessed by you, I trust.
Eternal rest arises, the cactus outlives us.
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