puteulanus angelus

I am wrestling with an angel who only comes to earth every aeon. We speak in puzzles and try to understand one another. It is hard, but we are willing, so perhaps it works out in the end. Who is to say? Life is a mystery. I wait for his next sending, transformed into an ear and pointing at the sky, waiting for an angel with blue eyes to look my way and deign to speak.

His bashful nature surprises me, but then, I suppose my bluntness surprises him.

Obduco duos, concero,
tripudio astrum quod luna
voluntarius ut tripudio eternus
si vos mos tripudio per

Est illic magis loquor?
haud magis lacuna es instituo;
in silentium, per spes,
tantum exspecto
pro unus dignitas prestolatio

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