Non-Erotic PoetryTree LineThe gates of wrath
Some powerful wine
Made under tenderfoot and
Danced down Blake alleys
Visioned beneath Satori storms
And nuzzled between informations.
Oh chest
Oh eyes
Ribs
Thighs-
Crumbled, we
Became
Pillars
Ashed
Up
In
Tiny mountains.
Sacred, those
Mounds
Your
Holy
Timberline.
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