Treading on burning cinders
it was a saga of fear versus unknown.
Stripped, before drooping eyes
scarred, armless, unflying.
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A pen of golden verse Melting to start a romance in the house of petals, of fragrant pheromones deluging the phoenix.
Whalebone of her corset formed an hourglass. All I saw was the sickle. The fields of golden ripe grain swaying with movements of the flute. I drank gin and tonics in the sun and swatted at memories of the moon.