In an evening where a cloud-damped sun descends behind the storm-grim ceiling sky, there waits an unknown hour far more beautiful than her brothers. From a thundercoil luminescence, the Earth glows nude--stretching lean her raw elegance, her naked true nobility, disrobed of all less worthy lights. Within her atmospheric lust we open infant eyes to find ourselves enfogged and more than men: we must be gods: for only such could see her thus and live.
May '11
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