Oh you know how you touched there
After you moved your hand and managed to act like
You were dead
And you blamed the dark tornado that couldn’t answer the existing
The Fistful written pieces that came
Day after day after day!
And maybe sounds and tastes weren’t clear enough to
Call the cubs … mosquito whiskey bites
So nice….so nice
And chased by sparks…
Giant and reliant
Encouraging on the thoughts of peaceful suggestions and
Propositions
Darkness before tears come
That would be an unknown perspiration to discover
Like white wine
Helpless in the end…clear and present
Godmother on armchair, praising time…
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