Threaded

Sure the power of the innermost

reproaching me. I have none

the hand gripper, now that

snow anxiously awaits

This dark autumnal March.

Airline damsel dragonfly.

The shear is in the air.

How can I find you

tortured by multiplying it by

how love is the secret

force within the person.

Both of us too much

the freedom to love, you

there is no time to stop

listen to me.

No time to bend a street lamp

under the common loop kiss.

My brain twist to repeat

the same sense of exhausting.

How this love

in vain the wind is calculated

breaking up. No, we no longer
create again, we are no longer
change
as young as those filled with
stupidity zeal.