The dawns of towns are
empowered by the shadows...

Our conscience is the
very presence of others...

Roses are countless
so as the pages of this...

What a hug-less night!
what infectious cruelty...

You, my creation, my art,
you...

Poetry is the might
to individuate the most latent beautiful blooms...

I love and you leave
Then...

Green makes
the world...

Inspirations
are like birds...

You, my creation, my art,
you every throb...

It was so beautiful
the bouquet of emotion...

Our rages are for our burning.
So...