cuir tic

air like a feather on her face

rocked leaves of golden paper down

blades of mango cleaved the blue

wreathed silhouettes with a crown

smoke and bourbon wind

courted a tincture of sandalwood

they could see the valley

things were understood

ripe heroin was the moment

hearts began to rhyme

air like a feather on her face

her fingers tickled with time

 

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