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love poem

ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
très bien, vous libéraux
sous un arbre de propagation de châtaigne
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
le soleil est vers le haut
gloom
il n'y a aucune évasion par le fleuve
nuit mystérieuse
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
l'aube était vert pomme

 



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