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29 suns
swell forth from your body
issuing histories that blur readily
and worries that stipple my skin
Lovers'sins and your own distillations
Desires that speak for themselves
Beginnings that could outlast us all
Your ears, nose, tongue, eyes-
they see the world at an angle
of finest minutes or grand morosities
Your particularity constrains lovers
of a lesser kind. Never tepid
You my dear consume moments
like the madwoman in the attic
Fiercer than sunsets.
You defeated me.
I have become Mishima's Mrs. Kaburagi
Even today I shiver with uncommon awe at
the canvasses you paint and discard like pips
You are my muse...
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