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love poems

todavía trece años
dentro de mi mano sostengo
el mirar más allá
amigo, que sonrisa ha venido ser
si muero, piense solamente esto en mí
por el puente grosero
ahora mientras que están viviendo mis labios
pueden hablar de amor en una cabaña
cuál era él los motores dichos
no ruego para la paz
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeñas cosas
con los ojos mansos, marrones
bucks negros gordos en un cuarto del vino-barril

 



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