Chocolates on the window seat

The cutting edge of our lips as long lived
Dry is the golden tank of our dilutions
I wait for the draining of the ablutions that, each time, revived the damages

I wait, I tend myself towards the infinity of endurance
An irritation at the fringe of oblivion persists
Around has been spread the cystine of my numbness

You hardly get down from my back
On both sides of the thread of my fleeting thoughts
You sprinkle me with your immutable silence

I inter you to all winds without believing it
What would remain, I scatter it, wish it to others
I can not predict the future, I confess, I envy the wear

I wait, I tend towards amnesia
I know too much about the indigence of my memory that immortalized you
The effect, probably, of your upside down confessions

I shall not feel your vain taste in my mouth
Your taste irreplaceable too
I wait, I stretch, inexhaustible patience

If I wait more, if I stretch better
Finally one day, perhaps, the rudiments of your voice will scatter
Under the kind of bent sheet, the kind of sanitized drought of the space 

March 2014