In the air which guards the lamenting butterflies
It never showed sympathy for a while
no one can watch how it slowly dies
Pain, triumphant in style
A naked pleasure cherished for unborn
slithering through the deep dark frames
your highness made mad flames
a long way from home he is alone
in the air which guards the soft feathers of larks
you breathe pleasure ; hath he doesn't
a pleasant dream dressed up for Christmas
he is alone waiting for a golden present !
Joel Lennon W.A.D. [ 11/12/2011]
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