Chapter 21 twenty one

【Shanwan Park】 as fluffy as lotus root Floating white and tender from the night rain this morning spring water chooses no way Raise clean ankles on the grassy slope of the stone terrace No matter how abundant and turbulent still chime soft Your lips smell of wild mint foggy eyes bend over you spent twenty years The Cloak of Time is finally revealed You ask me what is the wetness on my cheek spring.I say 【The Department of the Soul】 all roads lead to you There is no one road to reach you your words are compiled into a dictionary bookmark your copy of silence I have a translation in my heart

you locked the door throw away the keys You never pass that street, every time you look up I see a window open boos and applause soft sedimentary rock before turning into amber dense foliage your cicada called 【mirror】 dark blue night Old creations burst together When the bed is frying these past events again is a very patient lover clock tick tick Trample the dream to pieces groping along the wall Fumble along the wall for a pull switch but unintentionally entangled a strand of moonlight Scale whitebait smells and comes from roots you finally soft pool in a slow turn

you look at you you look at you The full-length mirror pretends to be innocent and wishful thinking The ambiguous wallpaper blurs the pattern be rigidly framed Seeing yourself withering petal by petal you can't escape there's no escape Even if I can fall over a wall There are still unmanageable days behind us women don't need philosophy Women can drop the color spots of the moon, such as dog shakes off water close the thick curtains Dawn's wet tongue hits the windowpane back to the dent in the pillow like a roll of exposed film spread yourself out The walnut tree under the window shrank loudly

as if touched by a cold hand 【Sleep Bell】 longing bell Always no sound Scale like a bird into the forest Your life has many fine autumns obituary walks around The piggy bank that breaks people's hearts Pour out a pile of accumulated sighs use up once missing fingers without permission delve into your past Maybe I can break the string inch by inch Arrange finely is this the clock People become paler in the black frame Phoenix tree outside the rainy window uphold bright red 【Days of blackout】 write poetry out of instinct To be called a poet is an opportunity ——Shu Ting

dusk without light is a silt beach people exiled from a strange home grass in front of the door drifting Twos and threes Shadow yourself in the sound of panic like guarding a seat empty city tripped over again on meaningless topics neighboring building Candle seedlings with ears are guarded by hands from a window move to another window The Kuroshio surges in and recedes layer by layer many eyes Suddenly suddenly dark start to move chest burning Is it that thing called thought? hold that handle Hear the rusty door rattle and turn The soul is longing to escape wife is calling

child opens homework Singers laugh when they see you on TV Dreams and last night's broken hair scattered on the pillowcase moored in Deep pool and shallow stream of lamps the fish are quiet a window a window blue golden Alibaba Alibaba Is there really that secret door?