With a Red Flower

with a red flower[1]
pass through the black clothes
and the worn out flags of the pavement/path
there isn't any other way
with your red flower
come down from the left corner of the paper
from in between the writing and lines[2]
pass through
and turn[3] in the direction of my memories
meet me
in a yellow and dilapidated house
which has rusty pipes
and shutters covered in ivy and grass
interlaced and elastic whispers, objects are dust
the depressing covers of years
turn around fears
with your red flower
come, come
in such a way that they won't see
the direction of heaven's door

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