I look close, on the blended preordained
My seeing eyes do naught but receive
Like clockwork is the machine human
Whose second beauty is last found within
Deliverance, oh sons & daughters of Abel
A tourniquet solider has come upon you
It's lips curl stanzas, feet march forwards
Creeks of black velvet, surpassing sullen mistake
Sacral ember, deep voiced & meritorious
You calculate nothing, simply switched to working
Your hand strung synapses deny white noise
Music witnessing it's own composition, enlivened
Never have I stepped on ground so abundant
What do these two mirrors adjacent perceive?
Beauty of an alter element, finessing tables of periodic
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