Im compounded by more than, im made of raw emotions A limousine is
By air
your love is a limousine, shinny, soft like spongy chairs, smooth as an leather interior
our love is a titan that brushes everything away, i was made to manage a laundrette
it was vital to the relationship i had with this brunette, who fired my imagination
im drinking love balm i feel like im surfing the foam, staring at the foam is lokevisiting other planets
but what do i know about love, that wasnt a figment of my imagination.
what part was physical.
what part was compounded by comfort and style, and fame
and what of emotions
i don indulge in foam, except in distress, and vacant i ascertain vast proportial atractions to inhabit
if the wind asks for the foam to the hermit in the cave, does he want to go to the lake of red3mption
its just a station, not goal
coveting losens your connection on the earth to your brothers, and then you respond to god will you say you did what he wanted, or you were a reflection of yourself that you looked to yourself, that his works are unfinnished, you didnt ask for help you payed false judge to his comitments
chance would have been a fine thing
that the world would have been that except for you
and that it was this because of you
she likes the seven peaks of the andes
what would you disclose to god, thati like coffee a and cheries
you learnt
i prefer watching the sand on the shoreline
i want to take you to a party, with a forest in the middle
but the dawn apears in this california house
the shadows dissapear
mor ethan just superficial, items
in the conversation
but secret revelations of our lords will
substantial, satisfaction,
dont be contemptible
uncomptemtible
i knew this before
your penchance for leather high heels, and belts
vertiginous emotion compounded by more than comfy chairs and luxury
its in action
but i didnt now that
something meaninfull, though i dont know the meaning of everyone
the sirens melody knows
the whereabouts of the room where the honey flowed endlessly
where the path is
what are the bad doors, the mirrors in the parties
how many more miles to your home
but the lakes reflectio is still there
the path is full of weeds
i was sure that you were capable of more than complacency
my memories will become, the senses impulses to form
statues from waves
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem