On the felucca en route Paris
A place have never been
in my corporeality

With the name of that
that belongs to you given
to me.

Moving me forward
further in into that dream
Of Solness.

That of which the paddle
Is the love far more than
the sky.

The sky you showed me
Is as high as not in my
imaging-nation.

Butterflies flies on the love flame
With the wings getting prettier
and sweeter.

Like a bulk of lobsters
In numbers of countless
I ferret.

Then i remember the taste
Of combatant lips on
The body warfront.

And the smooth friction
Of stirring bodies in the
burning blaze.

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