your eyes, the prohibition of cold winters
my eyes, the wanderers of earth
a copper sea mimics the candor
silence flies over the same archipelago
ah, Madeira
golden feathers are your waters
your lips taste wine
your breath smells corolla of flowers
we killed into your sands
the ridicule of the unknown
and went beyond
the ecstasies pantomimed
inside of the forever known
a golden yolk suspends itself in the warm air
a key is turning in a lock
the cries of winds vibrate an air sock
@short-prose-fiction
