***
You old winter, you don’t depart from us
petrified you’re reclining I watch you
by looking through the soul ice floe
so that I see whereat you are targeting.
I seem to have died within ecstasy buried
in your arms. I sank the last piece of chocolate
into my coffee, I swallowed the bitter porridge
and I resolutely began to work on my unhappy
flesh. Absent through the lamentations
of bronze she will traverse the pack of the tardy
pangs of conscience. Winter, we no longer drain
ourselves of life. I stay hermetically sealed
and tyrannical, ill and sad.
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