stared at the finger tips of the feet and hallucinations. You
polished in the disease that stole
hair and modesty, I came near
as do the butterflies with light bulbs. Then I
stringesti
into the sweaty palm, I will put my silly oaths
as weather forecasts for next weekend
eternity.
You did not say a word
-smiled-
the invasive front of ugly witches.
Ah, your face!
on a sofa cover eastern
boring confessed to hide secrets,
I do not like the truth, I said,
nor Scotch,
not drink it when the others at least.
breaking down the dawn of February,
the order of bodies,
the frames of your travels forgotten
the order of your kitchen
breaking down the living and dying in a no. You
ricamasti a long look
gold of my skin - and as the moon peered
-you said you had only one finger.
In amazement, slept, slept
long.
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