rusted_flower:
i want to enter white
rusted_flower:
crushed upon each other from a wild heart, they could only cry.
rusted_flower:
the chef
rusted_flower:
and fats filled the air
rusted_flower:
settling
rusted_flower:
on the silver
rusted_flower:
swelling the tongues of pigs
rusted_flower:
you can hear it
rusted_flower:
turn, but
rusted_flower:
what it means is
rusted_flower:
the lighthouse at sunset searches for where it was
rusted_flower:
a window where I've never been, on a train I think, east of Prague
rusted_flower:
dusk's sudden canyons
rusted_flower:
through the bones
rusted_flower:
leave frail footsteps
rusted_flower:
in the coming evening
rusted_flower:
g sharp in white
rusted_flower:
when she lived in the mountains, from the balcony the last peak at sunset tippled pink, ice and glass became a passage through which she entered life
rusted_flower:
she dusted the fingerprints he left on her skin with gold to save them for the day he did not return
rusted_flower:
the plastic certainly affected the oxygen level
rusted_flower:
the temptation of silver skin and the smell of lilacs
rusted_flower:
the slight brush on drum
rusted_flower:
during the night the dreams of dying roses settled into the water
rusted_flower:
and the colours would be seen, eventually, even if only in outlines on the soul
rusted_flower:
to walk into white might be easier
rusted_flower:
the dove could feel the last moments and the mourning of its name grew quiet
rusted_flower:
the beauty of november is that space before sleep
rusted_flower:
meetings
rusted_flower:
poetry from the end station
rusted_flower:
heart of the matter
