127: C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating raven yawns from fair use, and there’s the bastard shame (old age) accounted to eyesores we dreamed up or we could dream up, successive faces beauty slandered. Inside, borrowed codes trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, thinking: so many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after lunch. 
Hitherto nature's power susses its own fair use, so lovers per lifetime meet others halfway, creating new faces, slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we had. Mourning beauty, letting it die down.