An old broken promise.

Behind the ribs she hides her love,
there burns a desire of being loved.
Between the lips she keeps her words,
significant pieces of tender fondness.

And I read to her about distant forms,
and I sing to her a mournful lullaby,
and we both chat together about
sorrow and joy, woe and bliss; silence.

She sounds and she speaks and she talks,
she shouts and she screams as she walks,
she falls on my arms and I clean all her dust,
she sings to me and time seems to be lighter.

I wish it rained upon our huge little heads,
and we could wash away each other's pain,
and stay together and be a pair of old friends,
I'll love her truly to the end of my days.


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