I don't know what it's supposed to mean.
It was a script the lights were tracing out
across the page of the ecliptic. When
a retrograde begins, the synod comes
to bring an end to a progressive cycle.
I see her move, the way she carries her
bare shoulders, alphabets choreographed
by posture. Love, receive me in the way
the Moon receives the light of the Sun;
communicate to me the meaningless
oblivion that is the cycle of
rebirth. I heard a sutra had supposed
the union of our intercourse is where
the creator is most lucidly known.
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