Thin touch

Thin touch,
over the scrolling off.
Love in the part of the
the heart of the hide.
Winter At night,
 the Northern Lights
light, now I
whistle.
I no longer feel the child
fear, not what
can not take place
never explain.

I already got used to large
villages, and tightness
the masses of people.
The author is
joint ownership,
great nations.

I name the book
write action,
sometimes I get a hug,
sometimes kiss.

Yet, as the night the street,
echoes the sounds of steps,
lonely night wanderer.