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

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