#crypto-poetry

At nineteen nine three bitcoin is not egg cell and longing is gone Twenty-four years later I stirred the entire womb of my time to pick up a piece of yearning about you only paintings on the opaque canvas

When I first met you, I thought you were a civilian, Your hair, boots and dress sense confused me then. Realizing soon that it was simply that you’re foreign, Its pretty cool that you break the mound in