EVERY DAY YOU PLAY
My words rained over you, stroking you
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of you body
Until I even believe that you own the universe
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains,
bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry tres.
Pablo Neruda
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario