It was written in
pomegranate
I knew that I did not read carefully
A red after another fell
leaving the skeleton of a once
Yellow thirsty
fruit without pulp
as a phrase in the sand dry
taken away from the sea
Carmine
almost transparent crystalline
this blood that falls drop by drop
and wet where you pose as the wave
where the feet sink
stop,
disappear and no longer want to hear
vacuous words
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