In between the cresting and crashes,
There is peace within you,
When you are within me.
The sexual sacrament,
continuation of the species,
even a wicked god would relent
and observe the laws of creation.
Nothing can be lost in transformation.
We will burn off the impossible 
heat of human hearts in our feathered breasts.
To be cursed with flight,
liberated in your ligature,
we should all be so wretched.

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