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