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dark poetry

você pensa, meu menino, quando eu enrolo meus braços em você
o cheiro do levantou-se assim falso, os espinhos assim verdadeiros
o sol está acima
última meia-noite
eu não posso dizê-lo agora
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
mas eu não posso lê-lo agora
em uma câmara velha iluminou-se macia
eu faço minha saia, mas ninguém sabe
baixo! ' tis um a noite do gala

 



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