I only remember her being
thin and a virgin
and that her hair was
warm, like black silk
in her bare bosom.
And that inside us, before our awakening
bloomed a white acacia.
I remembered it accidentally, unhappy
because I love
to close my eyes and keep quiet.
Next year, when the acacia blooms
God knows where I'll be.
In silence I forebode
that her name I won't ever
remember again.
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