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Maybe birds dream within my Desiring Freedom and cross everything the closures of gardens, hearts, and manuscripts -
Eros, o Noturno. Eros, o Assaltante. Passas as horas sonhando sem nexo: Rende-te ou eu acabo-te! Canta-me ou eu grito! Beija-me ou eu devoro...
1 comment:
Better left unsaid.
better with closed lips than this loss of my vital foams against the ground implosing like the exausted ashes of endless flesh burnt reburnt.
This hour tastes best if left unsaid with much light on the margins of me. much light much shade much shadow.
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