You are my portrait of you,
this is true at all impossible. We grew
memories the plains, our love was blissfully
brutal,
distant sun riders we saw history.
ever lived.
The room is tired, perhaps
is time to fly home ...
What created time?
When I go to the window to the world, the world
cesse à exist.
why I stopped the clock wisely as indeterminate
as a note taken from a newspaper
strange neighbors.
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