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free love poem

robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
remplacez la vision du plaisir
je ne prie pas pour la paix
êtes vous vivant?
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
j'ai hérité le désert parce que mon âme est assoiffée
en dessous de cette tombe modeste un conqueror se trouve
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
un, comme part d'un arbre
vieux vin à boire
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré près
nous n'étions pas beaucoup
seule
il y a un pays complètement de vin

 



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