Barcelona: it is raining.
doors from the living room on the other enters the flash and the thunder of the house answers. The sky is yellow, with a sickly glow that even in its ugliness manages to be fascinating.
I wonder if the last flutter of a butterfly can make a Japanese name that too. In this air of faded lemon
little seeds of ideas make their way through their hair: they seem to sprout soybean and their Capini are orange.
0 comments:
Post a Comment