- her hair smells of desperation
like a freshly cut forest.

- on a bench, in front of the theater house
lied softly
over my legs,
she’s sticking catlike claws into
the jugular of my soul.

- time has stopped
because she is laughing.

- my hand on the orbit of her thighs
like a mineral satellite.

- the fear of touching in my blood.

- she is laughing.

- people torn from there circular existence,
from the liquid resine of the street lamps,
people fallen into the night’s disgrace.

- me,
sadder than the flag of a defeated army
a sort of achilles struck by his own arrow.

- you,
the moment,
like a steaming heart
freshly torn from the body of the night.

- she is laughing.