That, Thou, Smarahara, of Love, burnest up all that could remind
Of Smriti's splintering mirror in, once, my Mind,
& that all Darshan's but a dekko at what doesn't, isn't, Matter
A Narcissus without an Echo, I grow e'er fatter
Envoi-
Arjuna! Prince! Wisdom, pursued 'e'en unto China', being a not Latrian but Lesbic Vagina
Yield thou!, to the Kiraath, lest hearths kindle Kairos as the Katechon's angina.
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