Articles

Mark Your Days

Mark your days, ye fools
in love. Mages all, rulers all
of time, that wretched accountant
of days. Use the graphite of your hugs
to leave endless columns on his book.

Mark your days, ye fools
in love. Tempests all, storm clouds all
of sleep, that duplicitous storekeeper
of lies. Use the fat drops of your kisses
to bismirch the lines of his book.

Mark your days, ye fools
in love. Armies all, generals all
of loss, that somber steward
of malice. Use the boots of your words
to drag mud across the pages of his book.

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