Neon Shrubs

Into the gloom of a cold night
In which pleasure and sadness
Become a single flesh
We are matter no more

We become puppets in the hands
Of children
Devoid of boundaries
Formed only by tepid colours of gypsum

While patting ourselves
We stray among neon shrubs
Which tenuously heat the mind
Stiffen by its own pulsation

Warmth of a pinewood
At sundown from the gloom place
Where together we feel alone

Gently expands
Through the squalor
Of that distress

Which only
Desire and tedium
Can generate



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