There whence I took my pain
I regurgitate disdain
Toward a limp but mild fissure
And swore upon my hate: pure

These arms of clay and ocean breeze
Should cry of cut and cry of candour
For what these hands of fervour
Should not embrace your fears of ease

I have it in my heart
I have it deep within

Flowers of grin, smart
Blue far scent of jasmim

Slumbering…



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photo: very old playing with double exposure; these were my neighbours.