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By a Crimson River

Listening to the heartbeat of a great blue world
almost in a swoon with his ear to the flowing river
crimson and azure bubbling with strange commotion.

Upon the pale cheek of the icy morning hour
silky threads dotted with the miraculous nectar
and what may have been a gentle smile.

Seeking warmth the pale lips reach forward
hoping for a taste of sweet honey
cold within the depth of a dying soul.

Bone to stone of the marble statue
the hesitant palm seeking comfort of a life
if only the body would at last awaken.

The lock remains sound to the key of his desire
listening to the brewing of a storm
he dreams of a word universal his salvation.

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