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In love with vermilion
floating on optics
you learn in moments of insult
or insults in moment of learning
fishless bones
still he smells of withering pain
on black satin
you don’t want to suffer
with asterisks
annotation
disfigures the essence
I will boil the moon
to find the separateness
between scent and grief
I am done
the poem is over
death has walked away
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