Moon Chaste Poems

Chaste eyes trace my limbs, in the deep of woods
swerving like a breeze moist on fields of grass,
His Latin fire, on edge of twilight moods.

Shape...

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A poem writes my name.
I am trembling
on paper like salt.

Flowing like moon
on the black wound.
The lamb and the skull.

I know the saint
invented by masses.
You need...

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