(the Clock Strikes…) Poem by Horatiu Stamatin

(the Clock Strikes…)

Rating: 2.7


The clock strikes the midnight and I make love with a poetess. Her hands are not her hands, her words are not her words. I lick some sweat drops from her forehead: their taste reminds me that the earth is halfhearted and the flowers, confused.

Sunday, August 10, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: confused,earth,flowers,words
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