Dawns with innocent tears

Gramophone in the hands left

as emptiness edges

on the cold ember of pelargoniums

no weiting, enduring the perfume's agony

these dawns with innocent tears

wouldn't have a sense in the world

burning sounds searching for you

through the contour of  my fickle shadow

unfinished dance

dance drawn from the white sheet

in the morning's gate

and the error of the minute hand on the heart's

beats

when I pass from an absence of thoughts

into another 

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