You say my cross is not straight, rather an x-ray into the shiny boots you bought on a Valentine’s day, their smell are in me full, with you on the bed you’ve let me shine them, polish in this strange but pleasant passion you found me in. Your legs move and body wants more - I can tell that you yearn me to acknowledge and dive in as expected between branches that are so on offer. Me? I am sad but not in mood to let go, of the little that is to say about myself, except to give you love me and my seeds can only out whisper all consequence, me and my poverty burdens you with some uncontrolled mistake - I can tell. Dear friend and lover, isn’t it enough that I’ve let go, maybe it is enough; and you decided to leave and go away, but only after seeing my gardens flower that indeed has stayed, did you know, how it reminds me so much on you after revision?
Thourn Whaul '08