Alas for loves cruel gaze grazing mine nostrils with wisps of air
thru a barely opened window

Visible essence in the sun of lithe pink sepals whose bitter bark
gnaws to assuage

Abide not unknown against experience lost to bemused masked

Torrid ribbons of time obtusely fluttering at mortal wells of
karma ill balanced

Yet thru the snarl of ribbons an end must be held out in open
hope toward the idea of love

Jerome Neppl 2-9-20

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