And then the heart hangs, too dazed for repose; like a starless night, once splendid, like the last curtain sudden drawn upon the stage, demise heaves its final breath- the smooch of the lover's parting lips is mystic to the cheek. How do i wake from this stilled dream and let your vapouring wisp from my fist? - oh flight- keen moth! Must i give you all to the grave- to the earth? That naked whore found you and turned you wanderlust.
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