we were not the flavors 

of a beautiful painting,

but rather, the starched sheet

of an endless wallpaper

stranded in a cyclical design

that we drew ourselves,

unable to cling to the walls for a lifetime.

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and when you look up and

watch the carmine sunset riding the clouds,

know that those are the blood

of the universes that fought so valiantly

to have our constellations vibrant and incandescent

in their boundless mausoleums.

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