Untitled (11:28)

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A hundred of them, or more. You don’t know how they
entered your territory by your femininity     
during those twenty years. You gave each of them 
     a chance to love—; the “early afternoons”
whence you almost gave in, but you saw how they 
     cared to compete against each other
over real love—; and the light was tall 
nearby the moon-star facing the Calypso, had they
a lifetime of following master Fabritius’ “The Goldfinch”    
before the chains were released. You’ve given   
twenty four chapters of an epic the patriarchy was immersed in
     —or you could do what you believed in by taking
the high road. You knew the man’s world somehow tried to
alienate you from warm, cool shades of evenings by
drinking your household drinks, their      
bright smiles took on the lion with eagle’s wings
in daylight. You watched somehow Homer missed to point
out the meme. Now, you’re re-telling the aim
of a secret till the end of this world, you had the domain.  

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