21 september 2022
Speak My Language
Trying to count
the beautiful years, spent
in the journey of heart.
There was an uncanny
feel. The pink coldness
was not mine.
Like you ditch the
timelessness, and live in a
drop of dew to meet the sun.
The flesh. A suicidal
move to move away
from the relationship of night.
Of the tenderness,
benign death of a star.
Dust celebrates the glorious fall.
The grieving will not
stop. A charred book of bliss
terminates the vision.
26 november 2024
2611wiesiek
26 november 2024
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26 november 2024
Gdy rozkołysze wiatrJaga
25 november 2024
AfrykankaTeresa Tomys
25 november 2024
2511wiesiek
25 november 2024
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25 november 2024
Pod skrzydłamiJaga
24 november 2024
0018absynt
24 november 2024
0017absynt
24 november 2024
0015absynt