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black poetry

der Geruch von stieg so falsch, die zutreffenden Dornen so
ich wundere mich, wo Sie leben
ihr schönes Haar
die Berge sind sie leise Völker
die Luft ist wie ein Schmetterling
ich bin fevered
es gab ein strangeness auf Ihren Lippen
Nobility des Todes wieder
für war mich ein gaunt, ernstes Ratsmitglied
in Ihren Armen war ruhige Freude
ich bin eine Frau

 



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