Anglona (Madrid), sábado 14 de julio de 2007
THAT SCREW IN FLORENCE
Your mother and I begot you in a northern wood, that’s why you have highlights of forests in your hair, a scent of honeysuckle in your neck, the mist of the blankets of leaves when you’ve just had a shower, the rustle of the crowns talking with the afternoon wind in your voice, moss in your fresh teenager look, dew pearls in your lips when you give us your smile of shining, polished pebbles.
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