A story simple
like an oat cereals,
developed with the exact routine
of the gears from a Swiss watch,
without even the mirage
of a daring orange,
an effervescent green,
or maybe a fluorine blue ...
grew to perfection
from a sunflower on a spring morning
as beautiful as a rainbow on an autumn afternoon ...
remains only the fine carpi of a sword
nailed to the chest that houses an infinite love,
that nothing slows down ...
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