signs within the soft lilt of night,
uniformed footprints lay dirty roses
on the breath of bayou.
ravishingly exciting to hear
that breath ignite.
summons!
oh, how skilled is he
who knows, who knows.
the highest, he brands,
washes in the seabed
with cuffs and collars
who he now owns,
a soul darkened
which no longer
needs wings.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
27sept10
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