The Window |
The Window
you are my breadand the hairline noiseof my bonesyou are almostthe sea
you are not stoneor molten soundI thinkyou have no hands
this kind of bird flies backwardsand this lovebreaks o...
Posted by on Tue, 03 Apr 2007 17:15:00 GMT |
Unborn |
Sweetheartwhen you break thruyou'll find a poet herenot quite what one would choose.
I won't promise you'll never go hungryor that you won't be sadon this guttedbreakingglobe
but i can show youbabyeno...
Posted by on Thu, 01 Mar 2007 16:23:00 GMT |
