when the arms weave white nights,
caressing your eyelids,
only dreams know how to come out dry from the rain,
like butterflies,
spreading their wings to stop the drops,
and the dew, humble servant
washes your feet with clover honey
to grow wings, melt the wax on the altar, and
plant basil in your chest,
let us float like the wind on swaying water
…and...
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