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本帖最后由 雨荷风 于 2015-10-7 19:36 编辑
We
The hands that once held death ,now hold up the roses
The moon, she passed the light of tears on the knives
Oh， it is love
Let us use up our strength
The white eyes are in the familiar fleshes
We are trying to push the mythical world down
The eternity? On those countless opposite nights
In making love ,we have translated the poetry of time
The hard and abstruse breath of the land
Makes the throat of the world spit out the white coldness
And snow uses her soft tongue to carve the patterns on the stones
Steeping an incident: the menarche of a story
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发表于 2011-9-20 08:29:57