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narrative poetry

o rolo sad do cilindro muffled tem a batida
com vermelho do sangue dos bordos e coração da pedra
era muitas e muito um ano há
nunca em toda minha vida
há qualquer um lá
os corredores de mármore resounding longos
apenas como meus dedos nestas chaves
o ar é como uma borboleta
têm você andar visto através da vila
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
a algum os deuses gordos
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
todo meu amor para meu doce

 



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