torstai, 25. toukokuu 2006
XIX
She's made of pretty stones
brightest effusive gaze
You must bend by my words
or I'll break you backwards
To stop hearts writhing, seething
To stop wailing within, creeping
Excruciating was love transforming this dove bleating
Silvery images of gritty tones giving
sightless obstructive places of self-constructed beauty
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