The beautiful night is a sumptuous garden,
the flowers, planets; the bees, comets;
shimmering darkness covers
under which I hold fast to trellis,
to iron bedposts in trepidation
awaiting your pending entrance
with unsheathed thorn
my blossom fragrances,
you waxing, me imploring,
each accepting the eventuality
there will be reckoning,
but no restraining.
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