swirling flesh
and breath,
in the black vortex
of death,
pores open
in rapture
of an endless rupture
of what was,
of what could be,
resting in the calm
of that earthy fragrance
of sadness,
of a love
for everything
and everyone
who matter
equally.
and breath,
in the black vortex
of death,
pores open
in rapture
of an endless rupture
of what was,
of what could be,
resting in the calm
of that earthy fragrance
of sadness,
of a love
for everything
and everyone
who matter
equally.
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