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SPOONFED

There are no evenings
Without angels and gods
The feeling that ignites
the volcanoes of human serenity

You know what it brings
A voluptuousness Of poetry in irrationals
An eternal orchestra
Of spirits gone veiled

Severed dreams that tether
Alienation and moral alliances.
Lonely hearts fashioned 
angels from the reminiscence
of darkness and light.

But the angels I make
cling on to me
They marry my vocabulary
of self- sufficiency

As I hold on to something poetic
The Sea of her eyes
swallows my mortal pains 
I have made my love eloquent
from uncertain briefness

Of holy bonds, that fasten my emotions
to escalate my generosity,
to grasp the brutality of her language
And turn it into “the most beautiful words ever said”
 

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