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The bananas in tree,
mystic and curved
like hot light
for waves in sound,
bend to show real
what is real. They find motion
in your soul, maths and hummingbirds,
breast strokes into the future,
breath broke in the past.
When we’ve lived long enough,
filled with old sugar and dried
with old sun, we’ll have smiles
left from sleeping the eternity
apart.

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