And, from the confort of my graffiti brick wall, for the very first time, the flower sprung
Not any kind of spring
A diamond glittering, carbon in denial,
A type of being, a kind
Soul of clear glass, crystals without shadow
Needless to say pure, just say glass, if it’s glass, is pure.
And the cristal sugar on top of the roasted cashews
I haven’t buy them in a long time
I just came back
Is it sugar?
Delirium of infinite length, ice skating dream, infinite words won’t be enough for a better description