8 november 2021
From The Flames
Under your eyes
shadows, my poems curl up.
When do I call you?
From wires, tiny drops
of dew hang perilously.
Sun was going to kiss.
First I take you, then
I will cry for the last time.
Going to meet the gods.
12 october 2025
wiesiek
11 october 2025
wiesiek
10 october 2025
wiesiek
8 october 2025
ajw
8 october 2025
ajw
8 october 2025
Jaga
7 october 2025
wiesiek
6 october 2025
wiesiek
6 october 2025
ajw
5 october 2025
wiesiek