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Stryder
Stryder 19 Jul 2011 Tag: Prose

A The Sublimation

In the sweet garden of Aphrodite's blood orange orchard we have laid down recumbent as a dying sun. Clouds fickle as moontide seasons collude with virtual reality shades of cold vermilion. You say that all life is sacrosanct and we should honour the seeds of all thermophiles and organisms,...

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