Tiny green thing,
Rubbing atoms with your atoms,
Shifting the wind's direction violently,
As if a bud of a woman, praying she'll cum,
You must be tired, you little god.
So much for a photograph,
Time folded in on itself and you were gone,
I tried to hold back the nile, but my ores ran loose,
When just then, in the off-skirt lake, your reflection.
A dandelion day, if I do say.
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