sexta-feira, 19 de dezembro de 2008

not too much


I'm still and my shadow dances
to the sound of silence.
There are no more chances
only a fading fragrance
of a lover lost to time...
My lips are dry,
tired and not sublime
A silent cry
Kept within
unfullfilled wishes
dreampt in sin
breed lying kisses
To quelch the thirst
for a warm touch
the last... the first...
but not too much.

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