Portal
concentric life,
because the peach velvet
returns as wrinkled skin.
remember the old book in the bedroom?
it contained your now dead laugh,
old food scraps,
everything you said
about the weight of pain
and about the failure of anesthesia
who created the graves full of screams.
there is no more perfect frame
for this morning caged in dim lights.
anyway, only we knew:
the earth melting means
that the rush of the rockets makes sense.
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