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Moonlit Origami
translucent peaks rise from hidden landscapes and blend like honey dipped sun spots into cascading shrines of vapor.
I call on you ancient spirt cauldron, Heal the voice of lost desire, and restore onto him a gauntlet made from angel hair.
Should molten rocks burn our contract in organic spring, engrave your highest requests in the bones that give feet the ability to walk,
for loathed paths wait in fiendish loneliness to have the honor of your crossing them in moonlit origami.
