Genur.art

who knew late bloomers inside themselves would talk so late into the new new night and why didn't I ever know how easy life was when you were born so angrily and told it was all righteous when we used to talk we were dead and now we are sprouting up towards the noonday sun and so what if we both complain about the pessimists it will never rain again unless we wanted it all along who else grew older and found themselves unfurling there with fresh raw roots how sweet the autumn came (our old selves were dying) the flowers of your body made our bed