The beads of your eyes are crystal clear, clearer than rain water, quieter than a creek in the bush, where only the wind comes to doze under the branches. Rosalina, does your voice store so much gold, that even the moon pulls in its breath for fright? Keep me within the span of your hand, anchor me firmly to your boat, tie the line fast which now you let sink in the water, where we'll melt into one life, one love. Michael Slory (Surinam) |
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