Benoit Pioulard Palimend
Oh dusk intended silences & corners pulling yellow With valleys for their styluses & graphics for her fellow Our Sunday morning starknesses sang false endearing senses A frame of preening darknesses made mortar for their fences
It is not over, you just don't know what you have done
When we're nervous for all our sins in grainy wilted blessing Deserved of whistling cardinal winds while gravity's redressing Oh smokepure strain of meeknesses & deathly-bound allying Too many little sweetnesses, so much life in denying
I always wanted you to know I never wanted you to go
Your savior dies in empire glow but never tries to let it show