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sad poetry

quand les heures du jour sont numérotées
vous vous rappelez
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
l'obscurité vole les formes de toutes les reines
par le pont grossier
les jours mélancoliques sont venus
truely
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
éliminer, luttant vainly
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs

 



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