Smooth as silk this sentence sails,
its sides awash in ether,
while somewhere in Neverland
rough leather hands arise from holsters
and pick up guitars to serenade dancers at dawn,
reveling in their caramel-colored epaulets
like apostles who, under the sordid surface,
have torn insults asunder in sultry passages,
sashaying in waves as the soft apparitions
sway and fall under.
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