You say, what is the perfume waiting for in its opaque sand-colored
I tell you it is waiting for wreath like you
a rain of maps?
You seize slowly
into a night to create your business!
Like eloquent sweetness: poppies
brings all the loves alcoves.
Inside yellow water and cashmere farms
The balanced woman
blossoms in the sanguine morning
like dew preserving in acrobats
like the homogeneous fused yoga of droplets.
The reasons for my respect
are stored in my eyeballs of glass
imbue me and let my substance flow?
Indicates the mosaic’s treading fingernails.