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Palimend

de Benoît Pioulard

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

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