The strings of her
violin sang out
melodious chaotic vibrations
beneath the tendrils of the air.
His cherry golden oars
soaked up the cream of her sword,
soothing its slices into
mahogany mackerels.
The wood wrapped around the strings,
to squeeze the metal embers from the
veins of their minds. And the air
bludgeoned the wood that refused to
weep its joy across the stretches of
Atlantis. The world is the all, and she
is the one, her trembling locks piercing
the stoned scale.
Paddling across flaming shadows,
they extend to wrap around
and strangle innocent
players in the ear bleeding game
of notes and rhythm that threaten
to dissolve our iron-clad arms.
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