Face of the skies
over our wonder.
truant of heaven
draw us under.
Silver, circular corpse
infects us with unendurable ease,
to thermal icicles
Coercive as coma, frail as bloom
innuendoes of your inverse dawn
suffuse the self;
our every corpuscle become an elf.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I like how you wrote this poem Mina
white-hot. chocolate. cause it's that good.
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