The Touch Poem by Pavol Janik
The Touch
Landscape of a country of miracles.
Beds of the bankless rivers of salty water.
Under them flows a boiling metal.
A female trunk is smouldering in my arms.
Pixiades, Smiljana
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: water
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8/26/2026 8:29:38 PM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
