The place
The place from where you call in your first return is always far away its serene center strays when it tries to explain the last farewell, the fringes fall into expected shades of sadness
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In your mouth
In your mouth I can care for the dying even those who spit in my face who take themselves to the lottery cemeteries today I'm where your lips are more beautiful than death but, do not get angry I am the eternal little cherry stone in your mouth