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voice cracks in a minute



hurts the sound of water, mud
exodus when your feet go.
It hurts the movement of the leaves without winter
the rope that ties you to the sunrise.
hurts rush your voice, your eyes vacuous,
fear, doubt, the usual.
I've got a true copy of your touch,
the nausea of \u200b\u200bthe time we undressed.
hurts the irregular stream of your blood, the cry
the truce, indifference.
hurts,
when
brimming bowls of wind over the crack without a voice of my misery.