Or now, or never to still,
But yet, when he did call,
I may hope for faith again.
Thirty-one passes may,
On this day to walk to be sent
Alone, by one and two tens,
None find a hand-pair to cloy.
Confusion may it tie
With prickling sense, I am
Of blood to boil and balm,
I may yet sound a sigh.
Jittery jigs of amusement,
Splendid in frailty,
Reassures the shell its fullness.
May I, I may, may I,
Hand to hand, lips to lips,
Pulsate the two 'n one.
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