A crumpled mulch.
Papers and invisible blood.

Phrases like a savage harvest;
one of Neftali’s best.

I learnt them.
And forgot them.
A precious metallic limbless cold-blooded vertebrate, I am.

You coloured the mulch.
With your feet.

An invisible pen.
Resistant it was.
An unbridled canvas.
Pure.

Your cheeks have seen much salt.
Your eyes designed for an unending dream.

There is no other way but to love you.

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