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Afternoon, my odd skin and sharp sin

I write for you sheath and sublime ashes

Afternoon, I bless, you and your limping lumps

Afternoon, I blush, on my wrinkled cheeks and onion crystals

I mix and match your wooden graves and cloud born voyages

There is an air of wounded worms and curled up hairs

There is plenty of tissues unborn in your kernels

There is a rage of poison rushing in your vessels

Afternoon, I shall leave your arrogant lashes

Afternoon, there is always a weather after your skirmish

Afternoon, I am nothing but a gentle ash on your furnace

Afternoon, let me kiss your hungry fissures on my skinless skies

Afternoon, I write a wounded word waking up you in a whirlpool