If “nothing less than perfection will do,” you’re likely in talks with the devil.
You could prop up that régime with one foot. The Emperor never gets dressed.

The fortunes in these cookies are all “character is destiny.”
I’m surprised to find myself still on the menu. I must be there for a reason.

A blind owl’s eyes and the planet Mercury swim into my ken:
Blue unknowable jewels. I’ve left your tears on the shelf by the door.

In the tale of the princess and the pea, what keeps her awake is a pearl.
A pearl smothered in mattresses, the grit at the heart of lust.

The moon is a pearl we’ve lost and found and lost and found and lost.
Let me in. You know my iris. I’ll match you brainwave for wave.

The page wears a sliver of gold. Sackcloth smothers the hedge in winter.
A thorn from that hedge will prick you and spit rubies in the snow.

Reluctant, Reluctant, let down your long hair! The offer has almost expired.
So wise, the swans, doubling back their necks to sleep on their own featherbeds.

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