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Bobby Larsson
An evening with Scheherazade


Blue lanterns, boats on the river. Too late to 
work. Purple shine rising. Cross of serenity. 
Whispers of close gathering, strangers by the 
well, traders from faraway lands, ornate 
balconies above. On the drapes, shadows 
dancing: slow, slow. The mistress swallows 
another one. The eyes see it every night while 
the ears only hear timid frogs and silent birds
 

 

 

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