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| 21 1. If someone waits to witness the aperture of “sullen earth” (whose cloister is not without entrance) who inhales the hyacinth (no, cyclamen) on this rich telluric pillow so that a ribbon of sleep is secured around the hair of girls in saffron coats whose giggle heard from the insular cliff of Aegea is the thrill of his falling: first feminine voices of memory as to unfasten from familiar recitals inside all closure of thought. And the scratchy hinges of delight when he walks into the orchard and it’s the doña’s alcove it’s the silver dome of pear and pomegranate trees in the bare winter of her governance; all the same he unveils her body under gown sips confection so all else but the quince-colored tuft warm to lips were a bitter cake as when in the blur of thumbing her slender breast pressed back she looked for a moment like a boy. ...

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