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sex poem

musing, entre le coucher du soleil et l'obscurité
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
élever, comme vent a soufflé
Ă  l'aube, il a dit
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
si j'avais su l'étroit une prison est amour
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
si je meurs, pensez seulement ceci Ă  moi
il y avait de trois dans le pré par le ruisseau

 



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