There are quieter mirrors
no more furtive dawn adventure; are, in the moonlight,
For unfathomable work of a divine decree
, we seek in vain; more remote than the Ganges or the sunset, yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch
the tentative touch of my hand. You have accepted, 
from that eternity which is already forgotten, 
love of the distrustful hand.
In another time. You own
a closed environment like a dream. *-*-*
a closed environment like a dream. *-*-*
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