Black tea with intrusive flavors
Bitterness in porcelain touches
Commodes are filled with photographic tape
Paper sheets are covered with dust
Fleeting words go and mimic
Unread stories with silent sighs
They ferret in darkness with scarce robes
About the old runaway chevaliers
In tea reflections pass out my days
With sugar spoon about film memoirs
Fairy tales with sad and comic fairies
Happy is only the mad
In his imaginary yard
With goodies, a hat and a bit of selfishness
That is written prosaic in books
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