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She the Night

She is seedblown longpause sit and sigh
to underline, not undermine
to redefine

She’ll try
with subtle slaps to empathise
through murky mists most asinine
take tea and scones with Frankenstein,
Dorian and I

Feet once muddied stride across the sky
head bowed, I realise
that she, like swan knight mystic Lohengrin
can never speak of powers near divine
to soothe and salve; her shine
is shaded by innocuous disguise

My sighs and I
to compromise
shall bind her with poetic line
and thus enshrine
this punctuated paladin
and idolise
her phrases fine
while she, all elements

becomes white



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