About
A lot or a few...
We do not come closer and we do not disappear. We are always nearby — in the tones of a strange voice, in the ruffle of leaves under the feet...
How long or how soon...
We've been born by the rhythms of tango, we suffer from golden autumn.
Loudly or quietly?
We are in the diapason not to be heard. On an unnamed wavelength — we tremble with overtensioned... strings.
© Tuxo
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Last item added February 2, 2009.