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A poem I wrote, it seems ages ago, to a Don Quixote windmill,  posted here as space for sweet imagination, scenery of goodbye.

"Gather me in your breath

Swallow my surfing on your curves

I am but a short run to reach

Run in me

Along my insanity

Our teardrop twinkling

On the edge of time

Let the whiteness invade me

Through my fragrant grooves

Nestle in my dew

Expose my every line

My home

Irrelevant your map

I am that"