the perfect bending

underneath this shale, frail
exoskeleton of paper and glass
glows a happiness (a contentment)
that when the wander of these days
and the wonder of this space
have all but fizzled out into the
far off disparate reaches of time
imploded into desolate dissipation
from dust bended into fume, floating
vapourously lonely and lean,
there in the galaxies of tender and new
births a fantasy, reality born
two sparked phantasmagorias
glorious bodies of red magic purple


gliding into your gravity
shower a million, trillion
cries of ecstasy; your eyes
(the perfect bending)
behold my ending.

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