This morning I am laying to rest what is left from your scent
And the bakhnoug, which wrapped both nude bodies of us, once
I am burning it, now
In these sacred bowels
At the Strait of Gibraltar
An ancient empire of fire’s rejoicing the AHS
Delivering its bygone citizens and cities frames
Old sighs freeze, dear Tebra
And no banshee of the first Timnza reappears,
At the strait of Gibraltar
A saga of a grand terra firma has awakened
The epic alchemy that has bewitched
The wanderer, the warrior, and the wild land in me
So far, Tebra
Drop your antiques for Now,
I row no further in your time
This time I shall take off you bakhnoug,
Release your vagabond robes
Take off your weighty sandals
And sit in the slime, feed an evermore modern figment of mine
Forage the roving scars on your bodily map
Your time has dropped down, and you’re
The only Tebra with timeless leap
Your memory withers Tebra my dear
Your ghosts quiver
Your colors fester as your bakhnoug.
This time I row no further in your time
This time I row no further in your boiling sea
Can’t you see Tebra, the new juicy blood spinning in me?
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