Standing in the night as spirits spawn, with a dark angel of my Gemini mind, a simple sheet she wore a gray of dusk in hours of a cold-cold moon. No brilliant stars just a shade of pale, in a resemblance of its own dark hell, as night prepares to swallow me whole, without clouds feeling the rain. In the twilight of the falling sun, her eyes I behold of cimarron red, with lips of
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