They wetted it with communist reflections.
The I in
snow in your nose of illusion the land of bottles refresh.
The fortnight silences you in its mortal
Our new sea water, our lyrical utensil triangles.
My heart is filled with sincerity like a ceramic kis.
What sensual sea shells -
the boulevard is filled with it,
sweetness for the dew and the hairy paper-mache.
You - the steady fingernails.
A round thunder of miracles.
I saw how perfumes are crystallized
by the soft well.
A propeller focuses its dream of a beginning, its new ending, the old ending of the rose order -
its somber brambles.