You open yourself to me
the carpet of dreams
ethereal sugar violet
me only, and also the woman in
orange doing tai chi
She doesn’t belong there
orange like the other blossoms
that smell of rotting on the cars
in the street
she doesn’t belong there
my jacarandah
humidity can’t crush you
nor the storms these last days
just that intentional inertia
and deliberate steps leveling
your happy colour
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