Male Brazilian Wax Amature

The poet

Petr Ivanovich Sokolov, "Daedalus makes wings for Icarus"

If you feel my soul

a river is born, your soul dreams.

From my mortal presence

have mocked the roses.

Maker am, chimeras,

As at sea, foam;

Penitente a world of

eager pupils, nurtured in pain

As tender flowers.

The echo of rain revives

My insides the regal tulips,

leads me to the throat of

All the rivers, that in light of

beat A late universe.

My voice is expanding wind

garlands in a slice

Superb

, to sigh crucial

stiff leaves, that crown of

Anguish summer waters.

challenging time and I

Oblivion, patriarch of

The Aurora, which has shaped

My steps. If erupted here

I rain, whisper and I'm beyond

Wind, if I host the night,

Me confinement in their shadows and

vibrate your voice I

Hearts fierce.

I can trocar in lily,

Burdo maze of all

Wishes, cursed and uncertain.

I can engender life in

Two silent words, which fires

that open at the foot of darkness.

Anxiety is currency that

peaked in silence when

A lofty choir, singing all the voices.

Refuge on the shores of many

gray afternoon, beyond of

United celestial birds.

I cherub wind

At the stroke of light hurt

Margin and route on the way,

Fauno voracious and tender ...

will not stop my pen,

Ni with warm kiss,

Neither caress friend

Neither mortal seed.

Sing in my life be

I lost, piercing by

Centuries of love and spring,

The cave of dreams, where

cradles his glory, through thick and

Marea, my world and why.