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kid poem

sono, irmĂŁo cinzento da morte
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
o ar Ă© como uma borboleta
esse companheiro estranho veio em baralhar os pés
se o slayer vermelho pensar slays
há um que esse i amou uma vez assim muito
eu soube o silĂŞncio das estrelas e do mar
a chuva sobre, e o ar brilhante
Ă© frequentemente nĂŁo assim?
a fragrância veio

 



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