If you could knock on
my door with two cups o
f tea and a life in your dimples with a s
mile on your hands, and with those
moss-green eyes that would kill me
I'm
ready to freshen up on
your face, if you're in any situation
, my dear, I am willing to make every
single letter from the tongue's barrel in the chat world.
I want to feel at the altar of my aguş, the bre
ath of my ears, the voice of the
sound of the hope of the palm
of my heart to find life in the h
ands of the words of the night masiva of the Promises
Come while my immigrated soul is separated fr
om the silence of my knees when I bleed in the
absence of my knee when I miss
you syllable Syllabus
Well, it is. . .