A cool, cool gem plummets with little hardship
and waves are sleepless, quaking upon its arrival
for the gem is the gem is the gem of our prayers
in the gallows of jaded moonlit sheets, like silk
shifting as man wastes uncomfortable, then still,
blank upon peering with violet hardened nailbeds
whose muse is the hairline of African majestry
Queen of the Jungle billowing shoulders untamed
ever sweeping our bones brittle of a fruitless hunt
the hollow rapping rattle of your banshees forlorn
calling to Venus for some lovin’ sweet sweet darling
deliver our credence à la phoenix who drifts lowly
for I shall be borne again
and again
and again.


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