When bewitched – and lost, innocence and clarity was what got hold of me;
my blindness put on your glasses; a contorted of jasmins and lights, blond hills,
lighthouses signaling from familiar islands where I have never been, saviors, reliable;
made me believe that your gaze was the light of my route, crystalline and benign
because of search and adrift all my journey ; but now I see that what gleamed were
the dew of martyrdom, and blond; were the rivers of nudity and blood flowing into the
potion; your potion; and white was my own eye in the mirror running away from my
face.
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