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dark poetry

temos nós nenhum shame?
quietamente, com reverance, no awe
paredes e enorme elevados
a noite é escura, e os ventos do inverno
seu cabelo bonito
eu fiz um voto uma vez, um somente
fala não bem
uma tempestade está montando na maré
última meia-noite
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
antes do saint de bronze solemn

 



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