Saturday, 20 September 2025

:::

 


Be green mouths almost out

ready to breathe the voice's lit plush

then are the pierced leaves

kiss that knocks on

you hardly feel the skin being filled out.

 

Your Shelleyhand laying in the water

where everything are colorful as bones

just a sincle plant I call my own

you're not a king for your throne.

 

You breathe your youth yourself

heavy as a hugged teddy bear

feel how the nut cracks

like a sudden pixie book

you crack in until the prayer pole ignites you fully.

 

Your Shelleyhand laying in the water

where everything are colorful as bones

just a sincle plant I call my own

you're not a king for your throne.

 

 








 

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