Not from ashes. I rise from you. And I am not dust,
and I am you. And when your wet silver tastes
love's tongue, she wants some more, more,
more... She flows in you, still more different.
Jealous of permanence. And each of your new forms never ceases to amaze me, although I still know your simple symbol from school by heart.
I only want you. More than air. Because it's not grass at all, and I'd rather not love it, only you, water, are eternal.

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS