dripping from the aching
honey-eyed plants
they are reassuring
but the flamboyant fleet
has set sweet sail
the waving imp dawdles,
dancing on the stern,
in a single pirouette
he spits, yelling out:
"do not piss off that gnome!"
the sea maidens are humming
a tumultuous rock strewn song:
speak to serious and forgotten flowers,
the only ones that ever spilled thought
of healing blossomed wanderers
with tango slipped dresses
and torn smiles that sainted
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