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Elysium Summer

July 24, 2012

Bygone moves the viceroy,

burning air aloft with his wings

yellow-wrought in Saran and guile.

 

Behind is left the monarch,

orange an’ unbarred without effort,

quivering blushed beneath the beast.

 

Bypassed lies the moth,

asleep amidst a veil of bark

and softly dreaming of lights.

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From → Poetry

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