He stemians regards for success
wet dustsend
drizzle
like a dream
stopped guarded
no spaces
no point
without commas
wet dust
drizzle greet fret
then, the twilight represents itself
invite fingers to wash face to toe
and, in the same prostrate prostration
prayers are imprinted
wet dust
miss worry
I am still immortal for a day
I'm still here in the boisterous and lonely
in the lap of nature
to smile
to laugh
to cry
if tomorrow is no longer in a promise.
lying a day,
