Moon
then down on your chest, lover.
Maybe erase the rest of our dreams.
The night passed so quickly
Even though we are not children anymore
and the wind is so soft in our ears, right?
Now the moon on your chest is copper, and the wind hears the chirping of night birds in the forest who long for the moon.
The night is almost morning. The moon remains here perpendicular to the earth like a virgin kencur that sows the seeds of red potatoes.
But the wind is still quiet.
Maybe the moon waits shyly on the hibiscus tree in front of our yard.
And, you don't understand why the map of life changes from day to night.
Yes! Your night is dead
in the stone quarry
My longing
Your longing
Miss Independence
But the next day
become a foreign space. And you alone; do not understand !
That in a million colors of copper was pecked by the sun with its pointed beak.
The rest we feel alone in our own homes.
My moon!
Your moon!
The pink moon was stolen by the son of the ruler; Son of Mr Polan.
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