A scene that should be planted during her childhood
when the world is just an idea, a perfect image
enclosed contours
-Byzantine mosaics.
Like a blind man, searching for words
investigating things with wet fingertips, loading the universe
closed and quiet in your little back, deploying
angel wings
one that is all the good
met and interviewed another horror
prey on a flight around the body,
on Your dark hair matted
hand that tortures your head, very dark nest
,
final storm where
strips alone. Towards the ends
day endless night wounded by
close your eyes glow an ominous power
your wings can take you to the limits of sky brightness
sacred purple indelible stain
or the shameful
blood of your blood.
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