I'm trying to tell you this, I'm desperate to wait for you.
it does not hurt anymore, it is no longer strange.
neither do you.
neither do you.
Me neither.
strange if that happens.
what you, she, the other
me too.
we were the static postcard of pleasures.
the soul no longer hurts
- with her, you and the other, it does not hurt.
from the beginning, as if that were it,
perhaps, freedoms.
The birds are heard.
dawn.
water the plants,
he smiled again, remembering
the "provocative" message.
And a waning moon.
the new moon is approaching.
from you - and of course ...
depends on and
of music.
and December.
........................
then let's talk about why I insist - with me and sometimes with you - that we miss a meeting
- maybe the last one, it does not matter -
but we need to talk about why
you and I bet to stay
together - maybe forever, it does not matter -
but we bet, we live, there we go later let
talk about that february, and the sea, and march, and may, and november
- as if there were years and they marked us -
but now in this ignorance
then let's talk about why the pacifist - now so far away - and our sorrows
they kiss
in front of a church.
.............................
and even if it seems strange to you.
music is what you give
the last time i saw you, your skin was pounding, in love.
your smile loved every detail (with everyone's death)
your skin, your smile, your kisses were not in love with mine.
but your kisses struck in love
, liquids, from the beginning of kisses
us your caresses, warm, thin, long.
last time i saw you,
your love exploded
in each resource
in every sigh
to every whining
Thank you for spreading.
this debauchery
- yours of another body -
on the body
my breath
in my emotions
me there,
on this earth,
another area
- so ours-
so remote
from
my own.
.........................
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