The northern sunset…
Deserted seagulls
and your wet lingeries on inhibited winds.
To understand is to die in your warm eyes opening for the midnight sun…the little window is there in my mind like a darkened calling.
Openness of this horizon, an oozing cosmos…tunes like strings falling from the wandering senses,
look at me with those stopped ankles…
our home inside us is open for strangers and now I can’t find my frequency in this isolated land.
Salty metals and frozen neons and rhythmic gazes…wait for me to find a concrete of our own,
keep your hairs open when I get hungry and lost in my cravings.

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Photograph: Brassa.

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