I rise from the moist crevice of thought, I beat on the shores of her holy body, I fall from the sky in silver sheets of sadness. Rise onto me my precious sun.
— A.P. Sweet
dead
© Spoligo | 2025 All rights reserved
I rise from the moist crevice of thought, I beat on the shores of her holy body, I fall from the sky in silver sheets of sadness. Rise onto me my precious sun.
— A.P. Sweet
dead
© Spoligo | 2025 All rights reserved