Waking up, I unbind myself out of the forefinger`s den
To reap the honey out of the words
But no,
I am not there anymore, in the present meaning,
I have been reborn in another kind of black from oblivion
I have reread our ballad
To understand why she is so sad in me
With her tasty sweetness

Because
now
I only want
the jingle of the bees
on my skin

to feel