detach detach the feeble thread
amid the sky scrapers running
believe she says believe
the round eye open to the core

and sore her belly once, the ripe galore
took merry haste in fleeing by the night;
the esquire's own's the monster fight,
a taunt fatigue no more.

the mirrored walls
her hands the rope
a mesh of hay
it is the fight the fight

The End

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