Perfect, if slightly irregular

Rise and shine cherished absurd love obsessed
And resembling such patina
Oh non-summer excuses for the black dress and suits
Wintertidings and chill consorts
So abstruse-alpha mechanical was the wind-up moon
When the burn in her throat raised ashes tasting like sun
And taped a million heart shapes upon the telephone poles
Apathy for the natural and bashful and commercial
I ask him to trim the hedge funds
My head can’t take the myth of taboo

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