The best quality a fictional man can have is being deeply, pathetically, wretchedly in love with someone, I think
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Saturn Devouring His Son, Me, BALLOONS, 2021
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I wilt a bit at your name
Like dandelions, I disperse
At your zephyr touch, the
Moon tells the tale of our
Rendezvous to the darkness
As I blossom like jasmine on
A vine, yet you ask who you
Are to me, and why I blush
At your sight............................
*how do I translate this ache, if not love*
everytimeyousaygoodbye ©
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