《The Phoenix. Poems》Morning

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The morning flickers of lights

rays from behind the rustle of leaves,

brushes of warmth and waves of pleasure.

When the chills shake,

they form your face.

Luminous points

in the distance, behind the leaves,

your eyes flash.

And if it weren't for them there ...

but they are and everything is with them,

and me here and there,

thanks to them, I am.

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