they are like shapes in the door way.
the language on her face. it speaks to me like tomorrows.
making no sense, like teeth in the grass.
rain on the doorstep. sometimes i just want to ask her, what honest
words she cant afford to say. many directions but only one way.
and love may be blindness, then i´m already deaf.
1 Kommentar:
fever dreams...how do you write those poems? do you have some sort of concept or is it just random stuff? i´d love to know. it´s an interesting style of writing. love from paris
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