buscaré mi bicicleta en la misma calle donde la dejé
your evening is perfect.
things are alive in your world.
i can hear little frogs fall from the clouds.
let your souls join the socialist parties.
this is your evening.
somewhere Eroticism is explained
to a girl sipping tea at the kitchen table
who personally thinks this is all
uncalled for
and that
their breaking-in
should be left to gather moss
from which an occasional white water lily may be allowed to bloom.
this is your evening.
i can hear little frogs fall from hell.
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