The Flower Pot

I sing the requiem

a melody she left

when beginning to descent from the memory

I purposely bring in the flowers

arranged in a fashion unfit for man

to be brute to the fineness of lady’s hands

Undressed the shirt and wear

what she left behind the  most mystical

science I ever believed in

a solar power of sun’s rays deflected

And I pick nonetheless a chance

to sing a bold song of love and loveliness

But the requiem hangs its balance

ultimately by the mirror she left another

meaning for love

a sad longing for the flesh

and to mute it I silence my head

with liquor of miner’s rum

I lay naked under the sun.

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