***
Your forefinger dedicated to the force
and to the pulchritude, Beloved, is
my curse and my remorse, is my worm
that gnaws away at me. Now he slowly
rises and gives birth to a new universe.
On the roof I hear a tapping and we, Beloved,
we wanted to be good. A bugle and foam
of flowers at dawn. Nonetheless we can be redeemed.
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