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It was warm
In the sprawl of recently harvested grain
and at the horizon,
poached until the sea.
Distance between burnt grass
and the song of the cicada:
himn to the suffocating muggy weather.
In the paralysis of the air,
as the blue was approaching,
spreading scent of citrus groves…
the perennial garden of the
secular knight templar. Olfactory Notes orange buds, orange wood, myrrh
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