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Handmade22 września 2023
Hemlock
It hurts me, my poems
when you don't come in dreams.
Moonlight waits.
How devastated
was your faceless voice in dark!
The nightingale cries.
Like "la grippe"
the noiseless words leave the
night wounds in eyes.
22 września 2023
It hurts me, my poems
when you don't come in dreams.
Moonlight waits.
How devastated
was your faceless voice in dark!
The nightingale cries.
Like "la grippe"
the noiseless words leave the
night wounds in eyes.
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