Zywa
Our haystack
Stubble field
husks in the air
dry summer scents
poplar trees along the ditch
our haystack at the end
inside, out of sight
our cave
pulled and pushed
in the long yellow grass
I dream that I am with you
lying there, naked
like newborn animals
that's all
nothing else matters
we may die
that's our secret
mum doesn't understand
she is afraid
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