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Pieris

Pieris

The color yellow looks different when I look through your eyes,

As if the fields are made of emeralds decorated in butterflies,

And then I see pollen fly and descend to the wind’s singing

And embed themselves into beds’ sheets’ linen.

 

The coursing of dance mimics a river current

And I involuntarily admire your freckles and the rose of your cheeks like they’re sunbu...

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