miércoles, 2 de septiembre de 2009

Is there a perfect end?


When everything itself sets off,
I gather the songs ever since.

Purer - mean - caught in fire,
its dull flames to stingy dust.
sung are certain names
united the homonyms.

With gruff brooding eyes I recall
that shared dalliances
were never better than fine
nor any better than an aspect we timed.

I'll bear your ranges, although
it is now a forbidden heartache
when I scarcely was so
before then, you, and the dreamselves.

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