All the storm-struck
stories fray
Snaggerty of Eventing's fold
Upward Where the Tall points hear
My internals crinkle shhh
Where the Pent-up star-light
listens
to wounds that swallow
And Your third man being:
how come? and why not?
and if what then?
We have no frown for potential
Loving and swushing-weaps ever
wishing-wippled way
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