Matza Di Lourde
I bring the winds
Allowed
From the nooks and crannies where
if you hear the sea,
and, the faded colors in the
Foam Violence
they are selective memories,
My soaked love
in this salt, fruit out of season.
and you, in catacombs
of pleasure
you came to make me groan.
And jokingly you pointed at me
tomorrow.
On a démodé calendar
That time has scratched
Serious Game Died
on the lips,
When we forget
Smiles.
Selectively
Also, March
those in which the soul
was filled.
And I download it.
Carpe diem.
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