Mockingbird
3. 11. 2017
A song sings a mockingbird
heard by purple softness of your lips
that sleeps at midnight mooring.
I´m pouring a glass of wine.
Succulence of clementines twinkle in your eyes
necessary nicely as a cocoa-brown loam.
Foam of truth in this evening makes my soul keep weeping
like a mockingbird on the ash tree tripping.
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