The story continues and finishes me off, I bow
Irreplaceable curse, I've been wallowing without remission
Bitter soil of the passionate loss, ruinous bagatelle
For so, so, so long, I turn in vain
In the ghetto of your palm
Imposing of impassibility
That snatched me up nevertheless
Up to the very need of voices promiscuity
Up to the idea of a back
I choke breathlessly
Under a continuous sigh
That my lungs store as a fact

 December 31, 2013