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(SURRENDERING BENEATH THE POMEGRANATE MOON.)

Ah, I have mourned upon the trembling summit, where twilight watches through the hollow gaze of owls. As though emptiness itself were a sacred hymn, and every pomegranate split wider beneath the dark-bleeding richer crimson into the night air. A fragment of me has consumed your devotion whole, while your shadow stretches endlessly across my chest like sweet venom steeped in garnet wine.
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