The entrance to paradise
Is the soul in a small boy
Two ruddy apples, cheeky chappie
Your pulse in a starved eye
Fingers against cotton and elastic
A swamp sanctified with
Wood and blood, this the call
For a fingered miracle; the
perfume of wet perfection, rub-a-dub
And so you tell yourself;
To save you must love,
A smile brittle with chalk,
A breath full of hot wine.
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