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friend poetry

pouca porta foi alcançada no último
evidenciado no glimmer em seus olhos
talvez não é nenhuma matéria que você morreu
na meia-noite
eu gosto d
uma tempestade está montando na maré
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
as máscaras da noite estavam caindo rapidamente
velas que toppling lateralmente em umas latas do tomate
um olhar é mas um raio
você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você

 



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