• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 12
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Moth eaten arms, flea bitten thighs,
yet the damage of love can still survive.
If you make your own chair carved out of pain,
from heartbroken sighs and love twisted rain.
You can cluster your feelings and set them anew
like a finely thatched roof with a fireproof flue.
As night slides down the rafters, hauls stars from above,
hope’s bound to find you antimacassed in love.