Poezja

Do you think milk? 
The medicine, 
had already become 
a bromide. 
 
One benign question, 
opened the potential 
of conflict. The fan- 
tasy? Golden knife? 
 
Devastating me. Car- 
essing the dark, did 
you stop by the moon 
to say hello? 
 
Unmasking the secret― 
of immortality? Ephebic. 
You were always lying 
to yourself.