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Incurious Heaven-sent water gravitates
In fat drops onto the Curve o’ the World
Thirsty, yet, from the burn of Summer
Not yet concluded, as a warm breath
Gravitates onto the curve of her nude hip,
The longing of The Centaurs’ Realm calls
Where the Lovers frolick over the Wreckage
Of Desire, where flotsam becomes jetsam
On a twilight morn cold from Night’s Breath,
Which forced bodies to bind, and Lovers
To entangle naked and sure on a Darkling Mourn