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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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Throwing the smooth clothes, burning the heart that remained without silence in solid echoes,
she came from nowhere, from black and white, now and never Her bosoms I touched became one with the hand … my fingers became her lungs that turned into knowledge, the hands gave birth to blue feathers buried six feet under in ink, her footsteps sank in mystery my crucified words on the top of the virgin page of my thought she tastes like apples, she sings like mermaids; through her eyes have seen Medusa; her lie, Delilah hides and chariots of fire will carry stardust – so called, my MUSE!
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