Cinatit


Hand woven crafts are quite cosmic.
Like the structures of gods arranged
They retract from what is scenic,
And melt like sweet meringue.

The bone masts gently crumble,
Darwin paints remaining crew’s beaks.
See the watchmen silently tumble,
As maroon swarms over their cheeks

The crests it cannot withstand
The gaping abyss just chuckles,
While raising a rippling hand
Toward the skipper’s ashen knuckles.

Behold the feeble freight,
Whom the indigo briskly ate.

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