I rolled out of your eyeballs and wrote you about "you" last night. I was going to get up early tomorrow. I would wash the winds of thorns in my chest with tears. I was going to wake up with newly cut mountain gazelles from the milk in the morning prayer. I should have adapted. My lashes were ready for sleep. But I am thinking of you in the dark of the night when the stars are dressed in black. I wrote you "you" last night, beating my insomnia in stone bottoms. I know my pen and I left my love in the warm bay of ink. I tried to tell you one thing with all my heart words. As you write "you", your eyes were stroking my fingertips. I did not know stop. I do not think ink from the end of the column, but "I" flowed into the blue seas of your white heart ...
Remember you smile, times I love you. When I first saw his eyes; The sun was planted on the land that had been left in the wild. The stars were laid one by one by the bride at night, "you" in my heart. Sun, earth; Night, darkness; Butterflies, spring and I love you. I reached out to shy cheeks and covered my eyes with cottony dreams. Your voice is as warm as the sea where the horny breezes hug. You are a heart that I can not even touch. He was afraid I would hurt his pupils while he was sleeping every night in his eyes. I would hesitate to look into your eyes. Every time I looked, the hope of his eyes, like the melting of the mountain of ice against the sun, scared him too.
You know, I'm small. I dressed my dreams in my little hands and painted my heart in the sky. The delicate eyes of the clouds, which I have manipulated the thin lines on his forehead .. But my master who beat the pangs on the cold sidewalks was not able to make the painting of his heart to the sky canvas. Yet the thin lines on his forehead were incompetent and incompetent to manipulate them into the eyes of the clouds ... Their eyes, water; I did not know how to draw with my small hands, but last night I wrote you "you".
You were sleeping when I wrote you "you". The gangrene night, leaning against their eyelashes and hoping for their delight, was breathing in their palms. In the palms of their palms they were waiting for their departure in the morning. Yet you did not know what was at your end. You put your chest on the shoulders of rose-scented angels, and it feels like you're in the bed of paradise. The blue seas, come to the barracks, washed away the dusty lips of the spring in those innocent eyes. I leaned forward and watched the breath of your heart. It was so that your eyes were so dry that you could breathe; Nice orphaned swallows were waving in hot climates when you were unaware of each breath. He was not throwing the pulse as the rain fell on the ground. Because you were asleep. You were breathing Paradise in the hulya and watching the peaceful cities on the clouds .. Nothing had to distort this beauty ... And the darkness was quietly witnessing the birth of a new day by burying your cries in your heart and winging your lips so that you would not wake up.
Time to come; In the morning of the newborn, he would conceive of screams of liberation from the captivity of the bloody darkness and reconciliation. The sun will lean on its curtains and whisper the hopes of spring. Your hair will smell as good as a clove. And I will be watching you as soon as a breath. Do not think I'm here. I will hold a stormy head that breaks the branches of newly sprouted flowers with the power of your loved ones. I will wake up the gazelles who have taken the sleep and put it on your rose-patterned cheeks. And as I can not sweat the palms, I will go after the wind and send warm breezes to my heart. And when evening comes and you sleep, I will come to your heart. I will continue to write you "you" from where I was last night.