9 august 2023
In My Small Fists
You seldom touch
the flames of eyes, when
I believed it was true.
Your hand burns.
Ceremonial. I
pluck the roses in
delirium. O pain-giver
there was beautiful blood.
Cloud, cloud tears
slip for thousand of years
to reach the dry lips of iris.
Why did I go blind?
After the snake bite
you turn blue, a goddess
of forgotten sins, I
will never blame you.
15 december 2025
wiesiek
15 december 2025
Jaga
14 december 2025
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14 december 2025
jeśli tylko
13 december 2025
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12 december 2025
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12 december 2025
Eva T.
11 december 2025
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10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
10 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele