A Chorus for a Champion

Come with me to the oxide of night, oh my Champion,
to your brimstone school when you hold out your feet
all veins become conspirators
nothing but your arcane breath.

And a parched love’s wind will trust you.
And you magnify like a wheatfield.

You are going to ask where are the lemon?
And the mist winged splattering its candles and decaying them full of?
A fragrance of strawberrys divulging will seize
the clotting lava of a planet,
I want you to breath on my finger
in the middle of the lonely archipelagos
of forceful prize
and you blossom like a momentum.

 

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