home

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this cave is a half-folded wing of a black angel. quite smaller

than the rockshelter the first man made 2.5 million years ago.

& not bright.

& not for ceremonial rites like the cave in peñablanca.

& where 10 pm comes to stop my clock: i mean my lover arrives

with his effluvial shadows that will block this cave.

frogs perched on his shoulders

look at me as i look at the mirror holding no image of myself.

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