Poetry
I sing you clapYou drive I mapYou read my workComment with smirkI cook you like…
dedicated to my you,have this way of waking
You better lose yourself in the music, the momentYou own it, you…
Sometimes the memory of a painful experience comes to us in snatches, little by little…
The martyred saintLeft a note for a blind girlto whom he gave sight,from Valentine, he wrotewithout red roses or violets…