my golden limbs were weary
tables shone from a far off court
the appetizers served were twinkling on tiny forks
and trays were overturned by liquid seed
I'm a riff collector
a sack of skulls travelling on flying carpets
inside the velvet chains of night
bleeding down drawbridge lane
tumbling along the descending cables
you are just a fleet of outlines
prim shadows cast by a fading light
while the raid of doves
plucks at knobs of bright
ungathered lust
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