A keresés eredménye

The summer grows there

the summer grows there, in the wind
the skin is entertained by the echo of tans
and will not erase with mist from the mouth
the taste of amber. Because I'm stuck with a memory.
let there be no stone left on the stone,
and did not put to sleep alarms...
and it splashes in the room, like in the bathroom,
The senile sea is my secret god.
it is heard through the noise of coffee machines
(for the city, as it knows how, warms the autumn)
and from waves into the sky storm hurries
to wake up happiness, which has not yet come true.