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short friendship poem

como uma vela branca
abaixo de minha janela em uma rua da cidade
os prayers brancos pequenos
uma palavra do vôo de aqui e lá
eu sobre-tinha preparado o evento
seu cabelo bonito
agora quando meus bordos viverem
era o outono do ano
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
babylon -- onde eu vou sonhar
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
em seus regimentals ásperos
alguns dos hurts que você se curou

 



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