With a passion for "Amorous Cyanide," An erotic perfume of blossoms, Silently rising from a ghost, Of the woman I wed. Where have the twilights gone? From your hair of golden tint, And your eyes of amethyst, Of autumn leaves, turning red. With a silhouette of nightshade, In your nakedness, as I cry, So swiftly the hours have passed, With a vision, I can't touch. A whispering of
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