In the Heart of a carnival
which is our starry morning,
a candle drowns, releasing
the last fragrance of its
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The blood of shadows
pumping
dance of limbs, and of lips
that long to kiss a crescent
moon
and tongues that taste her
whisper.
Crystal tone may take
you through
the fire's final breath
calling all the angels down
to touch the weary earth.
Then the dusty diamond
eyes
of every crook and queen fall
quickly in her iris,
strip their skin, and waltz
beneath the raven's wing.