Wishes dripping from the fine leaves

 It's sad April. Sun, water, fever. At each birth announced petal prepared for the future winter. I miss himself. Speaking. It comes out white. Smile like stones. Almond tree look. Or of silent cypress trees. Damaged look that barely looks. He does not know of desire. Wishes dripping from the fine leaves. Perfume of your hands shelves silence. He has white it does not matter. Has the lazy hug. Little shots of impossible can break the night.

Sense, then ex-isto as hypo/thesis.