Like the sound of a
million stars,
Smoke rises from the wick
of delight,
The fragrance of its
greysome hue,
Is stagnant, even with
the raging insight.
Ink soaked into the
vibrant leaves,
And they sketched a story
of clay & wine,
Stacked together, the
shelves of books,
A picture of sweetness,
so deliriously divine.
Let those graphites ring,
and
Let those brushes swing,
and
Let the pages be full and
sing
The flight of six
seamless wings.
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