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SubmissionMy banks are broken. My honey is molten. Where is my prince of Goshen? This meadow's set for possession. Mount down oh eagle from the clouds, Fiercely training your claws, To plough my succulent apples, Cause my head to blow. If you cast my loins On your battle sword Or push it hard through my sodden throat Won't you take home this loot? Or should you climb down, To st. Francisca dams And tear its fortified gates down Plunging into my sacred fount Won't your beastly lust forever be purged? I lay before you my lot Am all yours to roast To spare or spoil my lord Make my melting pot, Your royal fort. (C) 06052017 Nyasi shortforms -for succulent heart. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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