the pain of rose thorns ends in the den-altered tomb
entwined clutched with shining face and hand
that sober beast fallen with lost blooms
whose gagging life flickered even as they stood
cradle to cradle you shine small collision still colliding
and my life these nights a glance
against the bloodiest looks of dying vermin
then closed eyes longing jaded and tired
sit here ragged in dust
with a finger sign your name
plights are light where we room in the loft
then a knock
and becoming wise to approaching night
mention our rot but rung by rung get over
finally lying where barren rooves
stand unbeaten under the stars
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