Instead of resounding the tasks of an ill labor brought forth in taste,
I will ratify the sweating waters bulbous and forked tongued.
Our gifts were sultry and nothing ever came of them.
May the steps slithered below that empty brow bring you near.
Antiquated because nothing fits or is sought for use precluded by those harmonious swells of your chest.
And we never speak like this,
God has you, you part the encompassed, and all you are is radiant.
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