8 november 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.
30 october 2025
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29 october 2025
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28 october 2025
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25 october 2025
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24 october 2025
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23 october 2025
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23 october 2025
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22 october 2025
Jaga
21 october 2025
Jaga
20 october 2025
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