Morning tea and mourning teal

What a lurid city – spell it with the kiss

Devil`s grey sky sagging down the belfry

Creamy words of nothing comes poetry

Harrow grinds in the profound wound

The empty chair is at the same place as always

Tells it`s own stories of the killed fidelity

Slumber with Lorca inside my breath

Keep all the brilliant dreams out of the mind

I drink my morning tea hope it envenomed enough


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