“我只把香气赐给月亮的圆缺……”你捧起脸,比早晨醒得快,从天空的格子抽屉里取出一些高楼,把谋生的人群装进去。而我不能准确地说出我还看见了些什么,人们说话的语气越来越接近花朵含苞的样子。你在我的表象里绽放,这人间的深层含义,就在你的花蕊里隐居。我朗诵一株美人蕉就是在朗诵你,我朗诵花瓣里的你就是在朗诵一座城市的爱情。我见证这微醺,这袭来的美和孤独,仿佛我的芳香也沿着空气的纹路扩散,柔软的星子的余光,在 “I only give the fragrance a round moon ...” You lift your face and wake up faster than in the morning. Take some high-rise buildings from the gridded drawer of the sky and put in the living people. And I can not say exactly what I have seen, and the tone of what one speaks is getting closer and closer to the flower-budding look. You bloom in my appearance, the deep meaning of this world, in your flower in the seclusion. I recite a canna is to recite you, I recite the petals you are reading a city of love. I witnessed this meekness, which hit the United States and loneliness, as if my aroma also spread along the lines of the air, the soft light of the moon, in the