Benoît pioulard

Tack & tower

Benoît pioulard
Crosshatch condensation
Locks latched, it's my condition
The roil of sermon heresy
Valerian, my angel of mercy

We did, we asked the council
We were blown back by the answer
Something is on in the tower
Break me from leo down to cancer

Grafted with scars around cardia
Planted, the rhizome is hardier
Shoulders turned in discretion
Moldered in flagging affections

The trap is active
An approach is gradual
The seconds are slurring
In motions so casual

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