Pour yourself,
Droplet after droplet
In this chalice
To deplete yourself
With the night,
Growing thorns upon
The ivory to your legs,
Among the grapes
To your vine.

You walk
In repeated circles,
As with the motions about
A seed that glows
Most radiant, beneath,
For the harlot’s moon.
A cycle, a phase,
A walk towards your taste,
To heal torn petals,
To envision you
Naked and collected.

Water the soil,
Raise yourself.
Keep the fires glistening
Your velvet form, in the morn,
When a moon shudders before
The aching sun.

And then
Dry your eyes,
When your face
Becomes the scene
For my remembrance.

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