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was there
hours drawn
in hot morality
an electric shunt
in mortal stunt
sheen of thigh
to knee brunt
applique
of pressure
not a brush
laid slow
like a torque
the gentle pace
to a pulsing
crush

caught eye
the sliver
luminescent
rush
through a dirty lens
like window thrust
astride the empty
clay lucidity
of the fall
autumn borne
stillness
crept impresario
down skin raised
like mesmers
magic a
skit of static