Poezja

Without a cry
Without a memory of a perfume
A trail of glass and caresses
leading to the last action
Violent in it's infinite sweetness

Without wings and without wisps
getting lost in the ruined nights
looking for a book
or a drop of dew
in which we can intoxicate our hands

I allow myself to have you
as always on a fragile pavement

Purple ice
Schoolboys Automations
before killing
like a good samaritan
this look
that i should give to you