4 november 2022
Without Claws
When the hurting
fails to speak, tribalism wins,
without a shine.
When I hold your
hand, you wanted to know
the ethics of our sins.
Then you bend in dream
like the circinate frond
or maidenhair, to kiss
my bleeding toes.
For you someone
would be falling apart. Take care
of him to the death of night.
The body will meet
the dust one day, to understand
life and come back to
unload the virtues.
Not you, not me
we all are superficial.
31 january 2025
3101wiesiek
31 january 2025
0040absynt
31 january 2025
Martaajw
30 january 2025
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Nawet w styczniu jest wiosnaJaga
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30 january 2025
Nadiaajw
29 january 2025
0038absynt
29 january 2025
2901wiesiek
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0037absynt