quinta-feira, 11 de junho de 2009

Entre margens

The afternoon anchored to the street of the Angels in the branches of cherry adults, because from then on no one pronounced his name. The interference would give him another.

Was of the Alameda Avenue whose passion for his river, played margin of the margin or flows into the sea in ships, brought the time of Moors.
On the return as the hours hit the exact doors as a metropolitan heart of the city and know the feeling exactly.

And I have no time to return sleepwalkers "other band" empty at dawn cacilheiros ...

And no one else sees it. Neither myself.

And the night is slowly lost to see it run slowly as if looking for within the time there ...

Photo and text:Maremfrente.

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