The singular love
leaves from my torso
like free air
who is the director
who lives the fantasy
who turns the mill
that grounds us all into flowers
I am sad it is true
but my feet do not end
in sacrifice unless
you want me
to respond to
your name.
leaves from my torso
like free air
who is the director
who lives the fantasy
who turns the mill
that grounds us all into flowers
I am sad it is true
but my feet do not end
in sacrifice unless
you want me
to respond to
your name.
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