21 września 2022
Speak My Language
Trying to count
the beautiful years, spent
in the journey of heart.
There was an uncanny
feel. The pink coldness
was not mine.
Like you ditch the
timelessness, and live in a
drop of dew to meet the sun.
The flesh. A suicidal
move to move away
from the relationship of night.
Of the tenderness,
benign death of a star.
Dust celebrates the glorious fall.
The grieving will not
stop. A charred book of bliss
terminates the vision.
20 listopada 2025
sam53
20 listopada 2025
violetta
20 listopada 2025
wiesiek
20 listopada 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
20 listopada 2025
Jaga
19 listopada 2025
sam53
19 listopada 2025
Toya
19 listopada 2025
wiesiek
19 listopada 2025
Jaga
19 listopada 2025
Trepifajksel