We breathe into that dark place where we die.
After the blindness of the golden hour,
when the path is obscured by too much light,
and the mind recoils from useless chatter,
the body teaches its slow lesson.
There is a time of shadows.
You know what I mean.
But you will forget this, too,
your sacred flesh finally consumed
by the beloved earth.
Your body longs to feed the worms,
to tell its wordless story to the rain and mud.
__________________

That dragon ain't the love sweet love.
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