Emilia

The diagnosis half true, you smell the Limes, on a tree-lined avenue, act like you don't know, the tests are blind, don't really go to show, hope only for the few, cradles weigh like stones, you sit near the flue, it's not like a crime, fire warms your bones, things you can make light, each lonely moon, when the kid's phone , try to say poof, drink leads to night, such a strange cacaphone, to keep asking why, where's there to go ?