Slave to the heart

Light pouring from the heart

heart of fibers, of blood and flesh

riveting river of oily cellulites

fluidly moving onto new pastures

where we can feel our outlets

becoming a mush of dreaming dwarves

yet there is a silver coil

and black clouds

out of which spurt many a dime

where the heart can only dream of the sublime.

6 thoughts on “Slave to the heart

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