15 lutego 2015
FLY-TRAP
You are not me.
It was not gentle,
it was not sweet.
It was fire in the glass.
One yellow rose was opening up
in a very bright night.
I was shivering
under the leafless shade of hawthorn.
One surrogate mother
picks up the wormholes.
One tendril oscillates
to entwine the lover.
Stealthily, the sad moon slides
into the big bosom of clouds.
My eyes now search,
the bared, Venus fly-trap.
9 lutego 2026
Amon
8 lutego 2026
wiesiek
8 lutego 2026
sam53
8 lutego 2026
sam53
7 lutego 2026
sam53
7 lutego 2026
wiesiek
7 lutego 2026
violetta
7 lutego 2026
Toya
7 lutego 2026
Yaro
7 lutego 2026
sam53