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Venus & the Damask

There were haunting    
vines that were cut,    
As Cicero’s broken    
reach lingers within,    
The lurid Morning glory    
chokes the Damask;    
I’ll take no regrets through    
morrow's hint of stillness;
for was I that planted it,    
Fragrant, the Venus stands,    
alone on the desk, and Pitiless.
Written by Pishashee
Published
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