An imaginary him: And it snows with birds and… who cares, life is a passionate wound
white means the field’s glaucoma?
…the forests are late coming to a dinner with clouds from lost and found in loves he who is looking for guilt is… guilty
She, disturbingly alive: the one who lets a child cry, doesn’t know how to laugh inside
He: the cry gives birth to rains of action with regret the mother infuses the milk with love
She: and it snows with austere silences in birds, wings trimmed by the mist of a thought of life (listen to me, I completely lost it, I can’t write on command) or maybe it’s divine nectar
He: glassy through which the edges of the time scratch destinies when life is late in train stations where trains pass no more and I see my lover drowned on the bottom of…
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