We die shaking to the celestial daughter.
The girl never wants a sun, just the tails of comets.
All boys want the acknowledged of her.
When will the old cherub separate from me?
Why does the disgrace live on?
Daylong, young wind spirits lazily.
They show the middling sons' folly,
The heavens pull at their stars.
Why is the small moon carried by the wind?
When will the first sunset happen to me?
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Author:
ervkosch (
Offline) - Published: February 23rd, 2017 07:53
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 15
Offline)
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