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best love poem

eu estou cantando-lhe
eu vi os archangels em minha maçã-árvore última noite
entre o fumo e a névoa de uma tarde de dezembro
fora do mar sparkling
mundo que muda sob minha mão
eu não pray para a paz
diga-me
como uma vela branca
com seu cabelo que flaying descontroladamente
eu detestei-o
sono doce em suas sepulturas humble
rode-me para baixo pelo prado
eu amo roubar por algum tempo afastado

 



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