A candle a language of light and of fire (a sign that marked our birth) stamping our life with the cold of weird loneliness. This weird feeling makes no sense for people of the signs of fire, though it might be the essence of the fire consuming everything till, dry and grey, the ashes lightly
Categorie: Poems
Tuberose Let’s call it the platform of love I entered life from. (Not quite poetic, you know?) Let’s call it the tarmac for the soul, a kind of white and yellowish context for the experience of life. (What kind of poetry do you see in these substantial associations?) Since then, I’ve always searched the perfect
Worlds of Words 