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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Poetry Path of Ashes Be quick to love this flame
and taste its blue skin but a night, where cruel the burning meets the flesh, no cupping wind will keep that light. A preying breath may steal the shame that binds the fire where it burns, then comes the dark upon strange wind, and feeds the red flame as it turns. A path of ash lies on the tongue, and soot drags wet along the thigh~ yet dawn cools pale the waxing night, as black eyes watch the fire die. ![]() |
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