seven is the number of heavy love.
a perfect neuro-neuro.
a soft silk sun without irony.
hard weaving whenever you like.
you are the spring, the eternal jazz.
meaning you have healthy ovaries.
they always bloom, budding all year.
listen to the sea, you don’t see its end.
on your terrace the sky is a raspberry,
a light red dawn.
it explodes in your eye and becomes one with you.
the port is near. come to the pier,
push the dinghy, say a prayer by the open sea.
bless the gulls in your mind.
be on good terms with yourself.
don’t be on the move
for the institution of fallen angles.
fly like a whore and a saint.
together you are stronger, firm like a tear.
remember the bird from the postcard.
it wanted to fly across the bar
when the blue targets were falling:
your July auto-goals