2 years ago. August 14, 2021 at 11:06 AM
Theres something about the curve
Of her essence,
That makes me hard . . .
To handle.
The die off fly off,
From the whipping heat ~
The meat . . .
Of a candle.
I dont suppose a notion to know,
Why the wax wants to wane
But she turns bright the night ~
Just sew . . .
In vein
Autumn cotton in full moon
Shine ~
Like a steel pipe,
Still . . .
My brain . . . .