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Closed in the sand of time
the fruits of my waiting give birth to whispered words altered by silence… fruits brake the taste in the red of some passions tasting like poetry over the ephemeral… My closed gaze behind the eyelids dream of entire mountains, with tall firs under the tide of some sleep walking moments with clenched salt between the fingers. I watch you from beyond, I smell you to the sandals, I wait with the flowers in my hand the eyes walking on the skin to the storm, in the esoteric which doesn`t budge the flesh… I wait in passion anywhere in the arteries. I am.
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