the aged clairvoyants
who have long hair
and taste like crataeva religiosa
you kiss their hands,
soft and lithe,
and their lips, painted,
by fairies so fair
you laugh lightly
as they calmly chant,
a low-volume vacuum
whirring with words
you love
the clairvoyants who gather
in your hearty head
to steal your wherewithal.
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