20 martie 2012

Always like this

It’s always like this -
Like a wildfire -
the heart skips a beat,
then another one
Little by little you see the sun.
It’s fun.

In two weeks it’s over;
vanished - like Houdini.
No postcards, no nothing...
the bitter definition of not in love.
This too shall pass:
our blood is young.

Forget about the naked island
in the sun.
That lovely place is gone.

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