I endeavour to be humble
but consistently fail.

Yours was the light of the world
in me -- within me -- and
I knew something

of yours; something
which would titilate my
finger tips as they would
run over your

indiscretion.

Taken from root
with felling notion
of the grander days
in retrograde.

It slew from form
function
and something fecund
droops over
cliffs

into your pool
of broken acclaim.

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