In the grace of time, the wallflower stem plods. Indemnity— a loan I steal without abashment beneath this golden-burning sun. Lividity, once a dungeon that chained me, grew Constantine's cracks until I learnt that mellowing was liberty Spokes variegated me in my season of radiance. I know no association with enfeeblement. But I know gunpowder— thunder that is never silent The Basilica purrs a tranquil across my outstretched fork-and-knife stance. I aim for the throat to mint uneven silicon, for any insinuation is but rags to my silk.