  A curious courtship in your brain Regulates the movements of your limbs. Remorse, the fanciful, abandoned Child of madness, discovers its lips Upon the breast of a hovering Madonna. How many poets present The crushed tips of their hearts Pieced carefully together as a wreath Upon the two heads of this wooing? Imagination is a wound Upon the adventures of thoughts, And one scar left behind Is known as reality. Will they give you robes Threaded with orderly shimmers of repentance, Pardoning the scar in earthly ways? |
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