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It was crying for us to be born to the morning. Her hair was visible at the tips of her fingers… Everything about her was the sun, I’m kissing her fingers… I’m streching to her body in a slow motion with my wirsts bruised. As if to penetrate to the every small part of her. There was a strong word, not more than three syllables.

Even though I knew that I would be locked out of His land, I still hold on to Him. It’s a fine sadness whenever we can’t speak. Blowing our minds slightly the day was breathless. Put something red on woman! There was a strong word, knock, knock, knock… Only being born and dying everynight. A drunk woman who can take anything… Touching my seaweeded body, tearfully… Her nails curtain, your nails on my back. We can’t be going down more than this.

When the wind was slightly blowing her dress off, I hear our voices on the sidewalks. It was a jacket that fitted on me. It had nothing to do with you spending any night sleepless. When our humanity was citylike. We were hiding at every nook and corner. When the sound of heels was fading away in my hands. I feel ashamed of my past, woman! We got degenerated as blues as it can take. In every step, I’m become more for her female being while her naive hands sweating. We were swaying to Cihangir. She was heavily drunk. That’s was why the vista was wounderful.

There was now a strong word; nothing…

By Mert Caner

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