You enter me like birds with a sonar song to strong to blur.

Your melancholy cage full of soul suffices flew free with fragmented flair to detect.

This flock of ink does not fizzle the fire that singes the feather that the masses may mock.

You are the gusto of tragedy; the one that falls with me into the sea salt stench of waves.

On fire, what anchors me in ruins within the spume of sw...

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