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￭ Epistle of a millennial
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Under your lips my nipples
Become two words condemned to the truth,
Two mountains that have to be climbed.
From their height you have to throw yourself
In the abyss of my heart…
Until the last sense of my fingers
That feels the truth after death!
So on every drop of me you chart tracks
Learning to climb my caesarian cuts,
The gate of my egos.
The deaf of the distances from lips
Assassinate themselves in the distance of the adjectives about you:
In beastly calls, in moon howls.
There, towards drum beats,
Towards acrobatic bounds with adrenalin core
We can find ourselves:
Towards the neck, towards the wrist,
Towards the roundness of the thigh…
Your lips have the essence of Heaven on each fold…
The drums` jungle unleash the animal in me
To deliver my fangs from grammar’s chains
In each sense of my skin… with the lips
And the tongue should judge each phoenix caesarian
Above your eyes, above your voice,
Above the breathing…
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