You burn rose in a vase,
until my chest is the perfect red.
And a form of love fall as ash.
Prayer of the old saved, wafted incense.
She no longer rigid, no longer fascinating.
Who could stare coal?
But I am charcoal memories.
You also burn a cross, until it's real.
Real as the body moaning.
And this longing was crushed out of shape.
I heard: What a very dry winged in gloomy ceiling.
Another blanks that are so charred.
I'm so dust or staying the shadows.
You: Fire that measure with a quart of view.
Soon to come, briefly lost.
You also burn a house of memories.
And all the embers of my chest says;
"Who is a gentleman lives in a dream of the night?
I hope: The smoke, so fragrant and true.
A reminder of a very deep events.
I fell in silent, and ask a body: materialize soon!
But you burn another verse,
about a bowl of water and slide the fabric.
O, an attack on earth barren,
please let all the seeds sprout.
As in the beach Nineveh,
there's growing allied pumpkins.
I am who crying out: Please do not wither!
For this night, will you burn too fish bones:
a story about the obsolete expectations.
It's me, kneeled on top of ashes.
Before you burn all of me,
would you preach the whole story?