amid the vastness of a choir light
some symbolist will etch from home
a quid pro quo infatually
clicking thumb beat
where the vestment pleats
go through dominion
to quilt seat time's
blithering in absentia
made to seem like innocence
too fleet for stowaway's
own sugar mild as sheets
will free the timbre
of infatuation modestly
at canyon's lip
and wince will I go mumbly
to another lore
"kat' asphodelon leimona",
on a grey prairie of asphodels (H.)
:)
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