whistled she at five
     silhouette on a purple
     melange, lavender sky
     moraine dark on contrast
     this mountain doesn’t care

when coming down
     fresh first flush blush
     tea leaves on her back

moyna, oh moyna, you winked
when I rode by the gravel
a glimpse of paradise
taste of warmth, shine
mountainside on my left

     (machine may rot
      come, before night falls
      come, let me rise into you
      these tea can wait to roast
      come, before this night falls
      let me taste you, oh moyna
      no Darjeeling first flush
      can quench this thirst,
      no matcha will heal this soul
      but the sparks from
      your skin on mine, then rain falls
      on the mountainside)
    (seemed like hours
      after I hit a tree)

visual perfume —
fleeting, hide and seek,
like clouds in hillweather
valley - you - petrichor
uncanny longing on my right
give me a taste of you; for I, or
they die, they die on concrete
with hardons of never-fulfilled-dreams
oh moyna, my moyna, whatever fruit
you took a bite of, give me, oh give me
for this man is dying for a taste of
your mountainfruit
Written by Bricoleur
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