You have made pillars
Of my ruin, and now
You puff out
Heaven to the sky
Ornate with flares
To the torching Sun, and
Bedecked with stars
In this cool of night
I find you, somewhere
Between the oeuvre of
My thought remains
May you proliferate
Thine own, but
I of sombre
Will cut my flesh out
In oblation
To thy form!
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