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love poems

étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singulière
avec le coucher du soleil
là par la fenêtre dans la vieille maison
travails de la terre
hauts murs et énorme
avec la joie et la merveille
de nos endroits cachés
dites-moi pas
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
je me tiens par temps gris froid
il était un jeune oysterman grand
la neige chuchote au sujet de moi
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait
clair de lune profond et tendre

 



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