I will close my eyes.

I grab my temples, trying to remember
with a bit of despair
when was the last time that you showered me
with bright stars and velvet parfums.


I try to feel your luminous teeth clattering
in an endless laugh,
whenever you think of me,
whenever you feel my heart.

I try, or mostly hope,
to get rid of this feeling,
of this ugly despair feeling
that shows me that my skin is starting to turn into flakes
when you are not blooming inside my smile.

And...

I've tried,
as a non-stop fool,
to stop this from happening.

But,
and this is the scaled truth
-bitter too is this truth-,
I feel is hard to hold on to this paper boat of longing love.


You barely know me.
I barely know you.
We know our little inhibitions
and our latent sins and powers.
How are we supossed
to not lie to each other
when we say
that we haven't loved other skins,
touched and felt mountains and pools,
screamed between bones and feathers?


No, it is not fair.
This is not a Fairy Tale.
The Fairies, the Fataes,
the little Lady Of Fates
would never forgive me if I did this
to my self
to the boy I was
and the boy I'm fathering now.

I...
can feel my arms melting
and my hopes clouding.
Please dont forget me.
Seek, hard and with a golden shovel
inside your heart,
and hunt for this answer:
must you wait summer and autumn for
my beloved word turned into flesh?
Or must you wither it in the pale
space between snowflakes...?
Turn it into rocky moss
that hangs, lifeless,
from the sidewalk side?

I could feel,
in days of full sunlight,
your burning and your apricot flame.
Smothering shots of liquor now fill my bone cup,
wondering...
what's next?


I, finally,
decided not to clip your wings. Nor mine.

May it be what the leaves draw.

And I've picked up my feet from the dirty ground,
and walked,
like warriors of old used to
among the willows and timbers
towards the light
of the homecoming dazzlers.