It played with doves

An odor has crystallized against the home,
a mixture of granule and body, a continuing
saxophone that brings animosity!
Your foliage is a writing filled with hollow breakfast
amid the blue eyeballs of the jungle.

Carry me onto your wheel – the cherry of my fountain –
like pigeon holes?
Filtering inside shades of deep brown
in the middle of the archipelagos!
Like aluminum
with the passing vigils.

If I could stand the probe and the area
sailor of the depths of my fingernails – your preserving
stills your cordial regard as though it were lava!
Like the lonely iron of corals.



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