To whit, my love, I am no token.
I am no blood-bright copper penny
Chipped between the teeth of youth--
No signale of darker passions,
No debauchery at sunset.
Be certain, I am nothing more
Than broken linen in the sun,
Flaxseed oils pressed for pigment.
With Tyrian purple, my eyes drenched,
No longer black with dark intent.
(finis)
Friday, 28 September, 2007
9:51 am US Central
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