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black poetry

ils peuvent parler de l'amour dans une petite maison
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
laissez une subsistance de joie vous
juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
désolé et seul
maintenant que je me suis refroidi Ă  vous

 



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