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šatanøs-

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  • šatanøs-

    I thought he was
    buried
    too deep.
    in
    Her fire,
    and that I might
    get lost
    ...

    musick in the wind
    played by strings
    Aeolian lute.

    the Singing God
    Sacrificed.

    One cubic inch,
    and the railways,

    I might trust
    your silence.

    I might spurn
    misunderstanding,

    but more
    than this, I know-

    you know better than that.

    For us both
    to be found,
    we would have to be blind all the way,
    even through
    Mock escape.

    Godsong
    sings the poet.

    my rill,
    my vulpine month;
    rivulets draw me out
    from the dark
    cave.

    nothing
    is
    ever
    final, then.

    Godivé lust,
    insecurity,
    s+m-
    ​​​​​​
    ​​bonding over
    empty coffee cups.
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