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sad poetry

sadly falando
se eu for muito certo
eu sou o vento que wavers
aqueles olhos pretos i elogiado uma vez assim
você é bonito e desvanecido
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
macio como a cama na terra
como um homem despido mim vai
bucks pretos gordos em um quarto do vinho-tambor
o sol está acima
burly, humble-abelha aplanar
há qualquer um lá
o único punho clenched levantado e apronta-se

 



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