"Nibbling fruits from other planets and I travel, I travel like a lot"
Mary's eyes wandered.
At 11 p.m.,
she composes the platter:
papaya, carambola, melon,
pineapple,
tangerine...
if she had a choice, she chooses exotic.
Exoticism, as well as modernism;
modernism, as well as purity;
purity, as well as triumph.
Mary naps a lot, like a lot,
she drifts off
the bumpy road in South East Asia,
the pale blankets of mothers
the tiny virgins of the jungles
The Church asks women to bear fruits,
and so she bears.
Sweet fruits of hers,
genuine roots of his,
til death do they part.
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