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by Michael Davis

Like a corpse that the undertaker makes beautiful...

rouge on the cheeks of pallor,

glasses over shut, still eyes, and

blue lips painted crimson...

And seals, with tears, inside a gold-trimmed coffin...

tulips at the forehead

violets at the feet

So love looks after it has passed away


Without one night of passion,

A tender kiss good morning, or a

Summer afternoon when the sun and moon

Burn bright in the lavender sky.