October 12, 2011
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Come to me in the dead of the night,
oh keeper of the dreams,
and mark my brow for battle
with the faintness of my heart.
And I will brush your gentle wings
back from your tearing eyes.
I will feel your finger-tips,
and read the fate we share:
the braille from your palms.
You understand my fighting
to understand your stare,
and I am held beneath you
in the fire of your spell
caught within the woven bands
that teach us how to fly.

I see the dawning of the day,
but I will sleep forever,
and feel the net and beads fall down
to my toes,

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