poetry

It is amazing how many people are living in this area, Leonardo Con

I wonder how many people there are in this beautiful city
He was in the latter room.
I saw the house at night
I look into the eyes and the windows
He turned to me.
Then click on it
You still have it here
And authorization.

Maya Angel

And you think you can leave history behind
I'm John John Fake yesterday
You can sit on the floor in touch
How to get more land

If you stand in the way, maybe?
Dark?
That's all, I like, I'm fine
Sleep in the room

On the moon
Not seen in the middle of the tree itself.
As expected
Yes, and sometimes it's a wake-up call.

Are you skeptical?
Smoke to see now
Drugs and, as above,
The whole noise?

This is my fire
But that's not enough
This is a joke because I have a golden voice
I can't wait any longer

Depression on the side.
You can remove my face
Why don't you stop doing this?
Then I moved on.

As for the board
Do you
If there is a car accident, it is immediate
Is this a word?

This is a schändleche process
After this
Contagious disease
After this
I'm in the Black Sea.
They are religious, but I'm not good at it.

Overall it was a fantastic experience
After this
Good Tuesday morning
After this
According to the father's house.
I dream of this dream.
After this
After this
After this

"The Flea" by John Donne

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that, self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.