En  su mano  un ramo, y detrás  del  vino.

in busy •  5 years ago 

Incluso el recuerdo del vuelo no detendrá la bruma.
Quien no soy yo
Ella viene de la oscuridad.
Crujido detrás de la ventana de la cerca.
Como un hilo fuerte de cuerda.
Los granos de arena entre tus dedos...
Este es nuestro pedacito de vida.
Porque viviendo hasta un cabello gris profundo.

busy love blog spanish news
5 years ago by

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      ·  5 years ago 

    Bueno si tu lo dices si le digo se a poner al llorar.

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