Mangled by a card,
Magic,
A drawing of honest attitudes.
Where now?
Oh but for the grace of bookshelves,
They hid them from us,
For the better.
Take them down and don't go further,
The crevices hide multitudes of histories,
Sweetly minted notes of sensations.
Others, unacquainted, will say it happens,
For the best,
For the time being.
Forever,
Forever.
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