Pájaro Libre en Jaula

Dont Look At Me Like That KEEP WALKING

KEEP WALKING

Here In

  




  Where does the colour go when flowers grow old?

   In my darkest hour I lie down in the arms of these flowers

   But the grass is so soft like hair

   In our crumpled skirts we sit there

   Wet and licking the quivering air

   The voluptuous air