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christian poetry

sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
je la pense splendide juste
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
éliminer, luttant vainly
désolé et seul
il est venu me prendre par la main
dans l'obscurité et la paix de mon lit final
vous pensez, mon garçon, quand je mets mes bras autour de vous
donnez-moi la faim
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
dernier minuit

 



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