Wood Desk at Angle

This is the secret of dusk, of wasted age
Death invites and avoids. The sea is remote
Evening marble. I heard voices from within battle

Mephisto dance, moaning and moaning, brewed herbs, while he is
Picking up the shadows cuts and prelude from injuries

That missed. There was a mature woman with toothed wire, standing in a day, the edge of a wet year, under a pine tree bumpy. My greatest confession to you, I stop
Meet a girl, and drink more coffee. Increasingly rare

I give you a kiss, my age is reduced
And lonely. I have received failure and blasphemy
As love. I'm out, my shoes always shiny brown,