Eating crepe-like olives
In the land of dancing liquid
Where the fierce wind
Softly hits hard
Against the hand
Sailing through the abandoned barn
Of angel wings
Delicately floating downward
In the scent of the anise orchid
That snickers at folly
With impish sweetness
Of the tap, tap, tap
On the glassine fruit
Tasting the tepid tincture
Of the fading spirit breath of the green nymphs
Buzzing in my ears in the dusk
Singing the old gnomish tunes
Of delight and satisfaction
While the creepiness of the brush
Whisks away the glistening fireflies
Into the subliminal indigo veil
That curbs into midnight oranges
In the sky of my youth.
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