eyes shut, lips tight against
the murk of emptiness,
the evening angered by the
rain relentless and hovering,
despite the darkness, i know
that nothing in you is
inadequate, that nothing
in you is accidental,
your sanctity defined by
your own holy hands and
furtive wishes, the veil
of your light lifted by
an origin, a for that requires
nothing else to exist.
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