show @ 2008-08-30T23: 51:00
a summer of intensities that are dry and my hands full of branches and escapes. your voice is a bank of windows that make you eyes shine with the disenchantment of a decade change of riots. strange so many hands, and the smell of jasmine in the streets of my heart that oranges are entangled in May afternoon. fly away is to tighten the eyelid and whisper that everything will be fine while some verses of warm sea fills my soul wells frantic. This year Blue sadness and wounds, your laughter and my luck.
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