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evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
como uma vela branca
temos nós nenhum shame?
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
são idos os três, aquelas irmãs raras
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
era o outono do ano
teria mesmo seu gracejo
musing, entre o por do sol e a obscuridade
quem ama a chuva
agora para uma luta viva e cheerful
quando as horas do dia forem numeradas
do assoalho ao teto

 



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