4.

— Marina Burana

there are gradations of beauty           in your silence
your body opens to the purple of a day         dying
in its embers / stirred by the last effort           of a word
uttered in disdain / you hold this life dear
and keep in the emerald of its wound            the stillness
of millions of souls falling together                you’re the Demiurge
your thumbprint fades           in laughter and decay


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