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The Blood of Evening

As the angels of laughing ladies, gently anticipated, the doves of virtue and grace, beautifully, a bastard of mote. A master of beauty the essence of dazzling affects, the whimsies of witch, sorrowful, attaint, ghostly dialects. For the princes' coming the giddiest of sickly man-staggers. Proudly the poltergeist wrote. For triumph, proclaimed victory, the blood of lazars. The caduceus of darkness, chastity and grim, our righteous in light, Sons of God, they resurrect. As the light of Venus, our amorousness of pathos, an alliance of golden virtues, a dynasty brilliant. The blood of evening, vespers of red tides. An eidolon choir, the phantoms, revenant. A man of prickly ears, keen senses, an aporetic. The blessing bestowed, now upon, the harlots of misery mysterious. Her knowledge, her spare, her wisdom, her wit, the crux of ancient Hesperides. The jealousy, dear Jeezebel, the maelstrom of eidetic hysteria, an endorphin heretic.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

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