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In that timeless realm, O Cosmic Sister, our love at the helm, where time stands still-
our love becomes the canvas,
the enzymes, the film.
Each fleeting heartbeat -a brushstroke, ballast,
as devotion paints the sky "magnifique",
eternal hues, in her eyes, a sparkling dye,
in divine critique.
Forever entwined in the sacred weave, are we,
pointed out
accusingly- for our audacity of being,
Wildren, free.......
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