Non-Erotic PoetryThorns of the CloneShifting in the hourglass
of internal canting,
stained-glass breaks solitude
with moonbeams of blue.
A winter of secrets bury
vaporous voices prompting
a baneful beast.
In reverence,
erections
to a mummers shrine
becomes another happy medium
to appease tines
without conscience.
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English
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