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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A long time ago one kid would shower snowballs up on us his name was Moshe neighbour's ewe lamb, once he drowned my family's cat after pricking it all over with his mother's tailor needle. He didn't apologise didn't look back. He'd laugh when I would kiss you beneath the willow right on your reddish cheek sort of a ripe midsummer's fruit when our dry lips hadn't already been wading through the childhood to the dewy land. And Moshe was working together with his father veterinarian - latex gloves, scissors tubing, tents, patching up the gashes for curs puttin'em to sleep due to the rabies, the birds would withdraw from the sky when Moshe would spend his night-time on a loft sewing up the tails of the mice after tearing them off without any prayer, Lord, without a touch. Moshe had a scar below his eye he was born marked, genes, my dear, people saying that's a gene of scalpel and needle, and it's uncertain what they'd been doing with our parents's cats in the childhood. I met him at abandoned temple recently, Moshe, he was meshed into the bindweeds fogged from eternal shade demented from birdsongs wale-marked by God, or by Lucifer, or perhaps by me I swear I can't remember it's a long time we are seeking ourselves for each other at this temple you never know there's a chance we are simply insane.
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