The flame carries to my
Hand like it is a catalyst.
It is a pact between
Stasis and consumption,
A force of velocity that
Runs in place and holds
Its power to. I cannot
Remember how this began.
It is like the exegesis
Promised in the revelation.
I have held the name
Of the flower of death
In the deformity of
My dexter hand. Hold,
Bright camomile : your
Cinder is the last will.
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