The night can smile either way, high ace
dark dress, light & heady killing hills
the way we make up such things in our burning rise
and the ease of litmus jokes above
saying to our hearts drooling in havoc wake below
sliding moons between us
weaving dusk in perfect moors, that we will see each other again in departure

by the streets, and the silhouettes of class
angels/tussling in the soil inside a lung
& the underground heavy in awful sweat
yet across this harem of days, and failing news, that fails even dull synapse
the owls swear indifferently, and i believe nothing
except that we dress this city with our cheer
separate to those toxic shoulders bunched

yet highlighting and armed
set fire by our poems of disgrace, to both of our families
which you find in my dark knuckles held by yours later
and i find in strange birds in later years
where i wonder which ones you see from your home
i see only several crows
i see only several crows.


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