Crying in a nasty March
December is molten candle wax,
when I am on your lap you.
Tediously oil lamp
on the walls creates a dance of
the shadows. It is a public
The secret inside the mine,
I'm like your shadow.
I hang up my box
closed, inside buried
in my dreams. My skin contact
how to delete my desire to shout it?
As at the walls of the dance
candle flames in the shadows.
Not everything can not control
not even when snow is
innocent white the current march.
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