Like a flower,
A corpse
In the scorching heat
Of summer
Clipping wings
Off bones
Sweet bourbons
kisses goodbye
Felt like
A Summery slow death
If I must admit
Running from cruelty feelings
Only to jumped
Into autumn misery
Perfect weather
If you’re a vulture
The kind of love
you only dream of in storms
False excitement,
All ten fingers
Caressing Rosaries
Not a second later only to be
Struck  by flowing stones
As her kiss showed its teeth
Crushed out of air
Only to get high on spanish fly
Written in Haitian cursives
The language of death
These Silly rabbits,
These fu* heartbreakers
They have never learnt,
Forevermore forgotten
Feathers do grow back
There isn’t a single day
I’m not eying the blue sky
Of love,  no matter the weather
Gosh ,
I’m always misunderstood