Friday, September 30, 2011

We Get Away From, From Ourselves

He welcomed her third person addresses
She was afraid of him, piety,
angels, the end, and forever
She was afraid of penalty
He thought she might be perfect,
beautiful, and between them there was no sin
or wretchedness or pity for the world
In a word, they were pure
Anyone could witness their love,
or find them in a palm of
a prayer, or in the petal of a rose,
or on the other side of the world
Him, her only measure of beautiful

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