TO A FRIEND WITH LGTB DREAMS OF HIS OWN
too dreams of the beauty of
nudities
bareness, smoothness
of lines and
curves that take you
to the places of your
heart
you are the man
chosen to a dreamland
of the body of
the woman
you feast upon
normal delicacies
and you invite
that friend for a drink
and a show
he is suffering
his mind flies like a lonely hawk
in the desert
most of the times
he feels the horror of
the vultures
preying upon the rotten
flesh of dead lovers
the stink of his
unrequited experiences
love is bitter
happiness so slippery
he can only hold the
tails of the fish
the tips of bird's beak
he buys a painting
that touches his heart
and makes him
a bleeding pigeon
throughout the night
if you know him
too well
you should have
cried with him
from far this friend
writes
a very sad letter
it is all about longing
it all about being unloved
condemned just like
the hands of Midas
TO A FRIEND WITH LGTB DREAMS OF HIS OWN
too dreams of the beauty of
nudities
bareness, smoothness
of lines and
curves that take you
to the places of your
heart
you are the man
chosen to a dreamland
of the body of
the woman
you feast upon
normal delicacies
and you invite
that friend for a drink
and a show
he is suffering
his mind flies like a lonely hawk
in the desert
most of the times
he feels the horror of
the vultures
preying upon the rotten
flesh of dead lovers
the stink of his
unrequited experiences
love is bitter
happiness so slippery
he can only hold the
tails of the fish
the tips of bird's beak
he buys a painting
that touches his heart
and makes him
a bleeding pigeon
throughout the night
if you know him
too well
you should have
cried with him
from far this friend
writes
a very sad letter
it is all about longing
it all about being unloved
condemned just like
the hands of Midas
too dreams of the beauty of
nudities
bareness, smoothness
of lines and
curves that take you
to the places of your
heart
you are the man
chosen to a dreamland
of the body of
the woman
you feast upon
normal delicacies
and you invite
that friend for a drink
and a show
he is suffering
his mind flies like a lonely hawk
in the desert
most of the times
he feels the horror of
the vultures
preying upon the rotten
flesh of dead lovers
the stink of his
unrequited experiences
love is bitter
happiness so slippery
he can only hold the
tails of the fish
the tips of bird's beak
he buys a painting
that touches his heart
and makes him
a bleeding pigeon
throughout the night
if you know him
too well
you should have
cried with him
from far this friend
writes
a very sad letter
it is all about longing
it all about being unloved
condemned just like
the hands of Midas
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