So soon do we rush to tarnish
and then, with sad guilty hands
to deplete utterly, swiftly
the innocence of our youth
the garish defacement
of the imagination
that intuitively grasps
the truth of the fabulous
A jinn and the carpet ride
the theft of the silkie's skin
This hunchback so sick with love
all and more we cast aside
what did you hope to gain here
fine passion bleeding away
as an endless equation
soon lost to hard cold numbers
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