A fragment of a poem, a work in progress

Here are the last few lines of a poem I'm working on.
It is supposed to read like a running stream.

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I dreamt one summer that my little honey lamb would light the world
goldwater from the stream mountain chinaflowers bloom
where winds purr Yes and branches bear milkfruit
warm rested bathed in perfume she squeals
Yes the summer winds are mint chimes
yet I knew her cherry red exhale
yellowing and tasting pale
was a honeyed sigh.

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What did you think?