Again on the eve... in the verse
the voices march.
I sing in the awakening of the latent being,
the blade mounted on the word
weave your presence and declaim it
loaded with cosmos, chips and splinters
edges the word.
The sprout filled with longing, with earth,
extends his hands.
You inhale the fragrance of the touch of time
survivor in passion,
in the resounding steel
where other faces dance in mirrors.
elespacioreal
Other faces
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espacioreal
A veces leo.
elespacioreal
Magician
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