14. Brine made gods

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Vivid is the memory of my lovely in the apogee of cantaloupe summers
Rushing through streams of green scenery
Blinding the mother above with a lurid hue of umber, trapped in the curve of a thick lash
Trees, falling feverish to the sight of her beauty;
Would rather die than bide zestless of the sounds her capers aurify

An apparition revered as godly
Carried on her feet, blooms of flowers; Hallowed by the most gentle scent of light
Musing pastels of ray, aligned in flaxen columns.
Clinquant simplicity
Giving cause to my affliction with love, my tumult with religion
That...I learned to temper
Thrusted delicately into an expance of a gaze, a riddle;
Hurled shameless into an overindulging wave of a hand, an intrance
Confined and resolute her delineation soaks the gauze of my mind
Drains my blood to be echor
A god at last I am; baptised with the tears of her heart

11 November 2022

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