cogs churn fictions of reality

idle syncopations tip and titter, they study me

she, in her Decay, sits and shifts in her geometry

simpers, taunting me

a veil of moth and mace

coalesce in convalescent ecstacy

moon cognitions shift and simmer

subsurface scattering within a world of skin

to many convex geometries, too many half dreams

so hard to recognize the light

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