buildings protrude from your navel
clothing your naked sand
with thorns and asphalt streets
sleepy
on a winter morning
of fog and humid air
sticky with salt
i can smell the ocean
in your hair
taste tears
on your tongue
the song of sirens
remains in your throat
hundreds of sailor's voices
lost in the history
of your jagged rocks
the past is a bird
gliding over waves
and forgotten shores
immortalized in statues of stone
the corpse of a tortoise
rotting in its shell
the putrid stench of death
decaying
on the steps of your temple
golden breasts of Europa
carried away by bestial heat
(incarnation of gods)
to the plundering city
of kings
across the Atlantic
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