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elements of poetry

le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
pour ces bras blancs au sujet de mon cou
sous la barre du guerrier
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux
je suis fevered
je me tiens par temps gris froid
quand j'étais a enfoncé à Londres
je ne puis pas toujours sentir son greatness
elle était une beauté en jours
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
je sais pas où
j'ai moulé le monde
je la pense splendide juste
sous la lune de moisson

 



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