In some moments
Dreams
Like felt
Hats
Tend to be deformed.
Some illusions
Must be corrected
As if they were
The armor
That supports
The heart.
The chest should
Eventually
Remember
The position where, feeling
The warmth inside,
It was passively
Invaded by love.
I long for exposure
To tenderness like a jet
Of warm steam
To be enough to fix
The scratches inside.
And I search among the words,
The one that may have the power
Of hope
To remake
My heart
To its original form.
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