layered walls if these hours in winter, like clay
and here the water is something that slowly crawls out from under the ground,
we have nothing but mud and no longer a question of shaping,
but to stand out from the material (above all) to space
the extent that remains the same distance from the bodies
and this is not digging, but feel the mud, the unfolding of the skin, where
touch, now the gap .
saw swallow amplitudes in the most convulsive Penetration
but is coming in the dawn, which clears the iris and weigh the palms
as steps on the sky, back home:
breath as his eyes darting over the water surface,
spreads like a shadow and is discerned and grace and bread slices:
is only your rough callus, the stroke, that face, the wrinkle
by my smile, the color. distinctions.
the course is in the sweat
and I heard the trembling of separate drops, the inflection of those propositions
juxtapositions of space and - when
hand shook the wrinkles of the cloth - where chiaroscuro,
and evidence: the extension of a sprained, shortness of breath
to get there - see, it is alienating the broad
unveiling of the wrinkles of the body sculpting
in the back spasm.
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