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A cedar picnic, red on white
and sweetened wine with love’s delight.
These lovers feast through afternoon,
too drunk with passion, swift comes night.

Dry needles quick to light fire’s boon,
rekindled joy beneath pale moon.
Their tenderness near done til breaks
soft fallen twigs, and fear impune.

The night goes dead as moon misshapes
these figures long, approaching apes.
Foot frozen fear to tightly bound
by stinking hulks as shoulder drapes.

No hope for them, now lost, unfound
to fire ablaze on ritual mound.
Stone knife to share the love around,
their crimson flesh with moonlight crowned.

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