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erotic poem

je remplis cette tasse
Ă  partir du sud Ă  la coupure du jour
deux rangées des choux
une brume entraînait une réduction
substance de la lune
hors de la mer de scintillement
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
elle boite avec stopper le pas douloureux
c'est la chanson de la jeunesse
écoutez
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
par de la large le sein faisant mal terre

 



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