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culte

by natalia-quilles

the altar clouds break: cry holy, holy, holy, swooning in the sunlight, fingers threading grass, sacrilegious lifting face to sun instead of sky, cry holy, holy, and think of horses, manes aflame, your lips were taught heavenly father but cry apollo just the same.
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Written by
natalia-quilles
American
For You?
Written by
natalia-quilles
American
Published
Mar 23, 2015
Time
1m
Notes

3/22/15

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