I came, I saw
my famed Dior
on game. Fjords
of lame Filas.
The Fila is old
and rolled in cold
Chino, and Spo,
Chino, and Spo.
I end it here like how the Spanish ended Fila eras.
I know that Spain ain't alone when talking taking 'sitas.
West Fila sea is filled with blood from Eastern Asia, smell the
cologne of Filas dissipate into a sea of stealers.
I came, I saw
my fames Dior
on game. Fjords
of strange Filas:
Filas with dragons in gold,
Filas with stars on the blue,
Filas with Christ in their hold.
Oh, Fila, the lost Dior.
YOU ARE READING
Mahal-lika!
PoetryIs love just a a collection of feelings for one? Is it just a sweet section of chocolate for one? Hearken! My heart beats faster, the box shakes stronger -- Mahal-lika! Let us tell their stories of love divine, their love full of sin!
