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free love poetry

cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
la nuit passée la pleine lune a étendu un tissu de blanc
laissez-nous pitié ceux outre dont soyez meilleur que nous sont
s'il
la noblesse de la mort encore
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
splendor doux
ombres étendues le long de broadway
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
je ne prie pas pour la paix
mon amour vrai de son oreiller a monté

 



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