Our wonderful world
In our wonderful world, there is not of nights, of suns which run away. There are...
A thing of you
A thing of you. Trailing on grass. Floating in the air. Soft like our verbs. Cherishing...
Between two banks of our delights.
You are frozen. On the one stiff winter old bridge. Between two banks of our delights....
The infinite front of him
Under the slowness of the feather the languor of your melancholy is written. In the...
One day, one morning
One day, one morning, a beach. The light which is erased. Silhouettes which intertwine....
This morning
This morning, the frost extends on the fields and near. The sun is rising. I leave to...
One morning of vampires
The day wakes up slowly. Stretching itself on the firmament. Pushing the night. Marking...
This morning
This morning, the frost fell. On the fields and near. This morning, the frost...
The length of ours nights
The length of ours nights breathes the languor of ours souls. On the walls our shades in...
One bitter promise
There is this black barrier which prevents you from seeing further behind. Tinted colors...
J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
