It slides down to the chin
Wet long and thin
running parallel to the nose
It drops off as if on purpose
Absorbing into the shirt
farewells roads hurt
across the face
Rolling away from the eye
Out of sight, remaining sigh
No such thing as goodbye
Just longing dreadful longing
Following where the wetline clings
So people can't count the tears
across the face, sad and clear
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário