8 listopada 2021
From The Flames
Under your eyes
shadows, my poems curl up.
When do I call you?
From wires, tiny drops
of dew hang perilously.
Sun was going to kiss.
First I take you, then
I will cry for the last time.
Going to meet the gods.
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Bezka
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Misiek
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marka
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marka
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marka
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marka
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marka
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wiesiek
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Eva T.
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AS