a lost city of sins
opening sheafs of pages
closing the world like it were a verse
chanted a million times before the night sky
before a dawn of a lifetime
sowing memories, like a black tulip among your white roses
a lucky face
simmering grounds with satin threads
are spun around my wrists
folds of soft black, white
rumble beneath
of old pastimes
of a time worn prayer
called utopia
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