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Affection Prophecy

It isn't possible to laugh in turbidity,
I bury myself at every step on loving sand
like a rattlesnake that sound in the desert
and from which all people flee.

They hang from me their kisses;
they can't be touched by the daylight,
remaining as erect flowers under the ice
between ammonites of oblivion.
Through this door entered Juliet,
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Wednesday, January 16, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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