Espérate! Hide those petals of yours with your thorns. For the coroner is coming. And he will surely come to crush you. Hide the dew of your freckled lips. From the plump hands of those clumsy clowns who come to squeeze you. Don’t throw clovers to the wind. Don’t throw your pearls to pigs. Don’t give your lips to vermin. Don’t sell your skin to snakes. Wait. Wait. Wait. Don’t give your words to snakes.

Published by Silent Singer

The Silent Singer

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