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what a strange passion this is
half love and half loathe
breathing in droplets on a half-closed coffin.
what a strange tainted memory this is
half sun and half rain
brushing away lightning on the stained mirror
what strange shattered passages of scripture
lie neglected on the windowsill
distracted hands tearing truth apart
determined to walk into the light of moor lanterns
this is dour jealousy making lovers of snakes
final chapters branding me blemished
how was I to know
how love makes fools of kings and priests

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