Under the ceiling mural
of the peach-blossom Madonna
in the room filled with carmine light
on the red enormous cushions
of the purple leather sofa
have you just connected
that the apple in the story
is their app for sex
which once lightly entered into
cannot be deleted
and that sex like poetry is useless
or you have a child or a swan
lifts you momentarily
back to heaven
out of hell?
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