12 martie

Bowery Blues

The story of man Makes me sick Inside, outside, I don\'t know why Something so conditional And all talk Should hurt me so.

Fuel

Even at this late date, sometimes I have to look up the word \"receive.\" I received his deep and interested gaze. A bean plant flourishes under the rain of sweet words. Tell what you think—I\'m listening. The story ruffled its twenty leaves.

Insomnia

After the bath you lay on the bed exposing layers of beautiful washed skin we both stared at in surprise; long strands of hair, shiny and damp under the yellow sunlight, fell over your shoulders: