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erotic poetry

truely
veja, desta moeda falsa dele
eu penso d esplĂŞndido justo
do assoalho ao teto
eu estou cantando-lhe
se ele
o sol está acima
quando eu for para trás ligar à terra
em e sobre
porque sĂŁo as coisas que nĂŁo tĂŞm nenhuma morte
vivido pelo river-side
amigo, cujo o sorriso veio ser
a noite era preta e drear
quando eu era um menino na faculdade

 



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