Wanting Scève

La Blance Aurore finissait painting your face in my footsteps.
It is more pronounced at this time of year and through the diving leaves the trick is to avoid your eyelashes. You face should be splashed like a Cubist painting on trees and garbage cans and cruiser bikes. So I avert my gaze from your violence and run towards the smoke, and lose you in the haze, to find you and orient myself again.
Through the afghan seeps an orange light and there is safety on this side, with heat enough to suffocate.

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