a smell of varnish

Through white assemblies morning remains
in the old city of joy, there’s low sweet singing
around gardenias, the end of edges
oscillating in waves.

Ring and repair old inclinations,
remember halls of varnish, how wood bounced,
the way skin disturbs movements of sweat,
how the song didn't go away.
Paragraphs burn through this art of layers
adding to clarity beyond the verandah.

To wake up and arrange the resistance,
a fine balance must be recognised.
Change masses on a mark. Besides,
and after all, you can bear questions.


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