Swirling on the pathway like a miniature
tornado the golden leaves mimic
the state of my thoughts.
It’s gonna be hard to
leave, I tell thee.
And I pray for
the wind to
spin you
along
with
me.
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2 comentários:
Foda. Não quero mais falar nada.
Sempre essa de "constante partida". haahahahaa. Preciso beber cm vc de novo.
You were able to skillfully delineate someone achingly, alive!
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