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teen poems

eu gosto d
flor branca da espuma, flor vermelha da flama
o pitiful pequeno, desgastado, caras rir
vontade você glimmer no mar?
uma vez este turf macio
homem frio stern
havia um strangeness em seus bordos
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
o corpo pode confinar
um pêssego pequeno no pomar cresceu
de encontro à flama verde da hawthorn-árvore
quem estará nomeando o vento
você está desobstruído

 



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