Michaela Coman

„Eu nu contest idealurile, îmi pun mănuşi atunci când mă apropii de ele...”

Foggy smile

Generous tip on the shoulders of the falling tears,
Down the lips of the secret tale
Into the heart of the pouring rain.

Shattered glasses on the couch
Spilling the wine of bloody vein…

Chances were a little bit more sparkly
Within the tattoo lion
From his neck, breathing down slowly…

And the smile was foggy.

Imagine that sundress, all shiny
Only on the body of the youth
Just to dare speaking lies.

What a togetherness of shallow beats.

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