For M

Through your Ray-Bans,

I wish I could see,

The spikes that connects,

The ground and the galaxy.

 

Where the Young King lays,

In all his profuseness,

Silence emboweled by gulosity.

 

The holy sun shining on the feline

By the monstrous depth of denial,

Rudiments of eminence

Forever emblazoned on the orbit.

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