sexta-feira, julho 16, 2004
E, Nina, bliss é muito mais do que felicidade, sim, darling... Bliss é dividir uma mesa, o amor por uma cidade e livros com você. Porque é tão raro, isso, né? Kindred spirits, indeed.
The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.
A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and a grief.
Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling
All to itself on the top of each
Of nine black Alps.
A disturbance in mirrors,
The sea shattering its grey one -
Love, love, my season.
S. P.
posted by
Viviane at 1:37:00 PM
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