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erotic poem

dicami non
come le aquile sul high alto
una storia molto notevole questo è
ora mentre i miei labbri stanno vivendo
fra il fumo e nebbia di un pomeriggio di dicembre
non posso ora dirvi
con gli occhi meek e marroni
questa ciotola d'argento antica di mine
là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
conosco non dove
quando libertà dalla sua altezza della montagna
sto cantando voi
la musica i si è sentita con voi era più della musica
un'ombra grigia sottile sul bordo di pensiero

 



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