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.
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
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