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dark poetry

mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
disse
behold mim, em meus chiffon, gauze e ouropel
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
minha mãe twines me as rosas molhadas com orvalho
ao longo de um river-side
pôde tê-lo sabido na mola mais adiantada
eu amo roubar por algum tempo afastado
o alvorecer era verde maçã
moonlight profundo e macio
em e sobre
eu vi as nuvens entre os montes

 



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