Eros plays warm jazz
with orange waterfall. Or so I hope.
how many hands are on approach from the rainy morning of drums
your skin comes from a first Tongue of mine
Oriental touch, last night, maybe. going over events and paths, not yet.
the same woman, the same dress, the same posture.
closely, she flows and sings the opposite string of falling.
waiting for the keys where the infinite directions of one wind only
begins
Absolute
blowing
young flesh approaching Hope
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