A parting still — Serial Outlet

My lady, a voluptuous sky her only rest, The bedchamber become a bower, become a glade Sings fain to dampen cheeks and furrow brows All her own Of what she sees, I know nothing save She spoke of rays cleaving the celestial dome Of antique palettes creeping ‘pon the clouds Once, long ago And here […]

via A parting still — Serial Outlet

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