as the time passes
for every time - i'll mostly grow
from my conscious - barely planted
to my monologue - yet worn
that has been built...
- the bees calls - starts buzzing
I start to breath from my consciousness
which shakes my head
and makes me cry with blood and sigh -
vine made of madness
would you whistle more?
its pleasant -
the roaring volume
I could feel three towns
and the toes - at its top of nakedness
the expresssion of my liberty
tall grass feels rough -
© E.