I don't want to hear the old
ticking stuck to the ears,
interrupted my cortex,
my beardless factory
of Dreams.
Silence is the soul
of time, in the mirrors
the silences remain
of the soul.
And you see the time go by like
clouds in the sky.
I observe the city from
the top, the flicker of
fireflies in the streets,
the traces they leave
the absent, the murmur
of voices of which
I don't understand his words,
nor their crowded gestures
anthropomorphic masses.
One interval is enough to
reinvent dreams
to caress your skin
with my invisible fingers
caress in the breath of the wind
my grazing kisses on your skin
or my fingerprints
flowered in your epidermis.
I drown in your mouth,
I tie myself to your lips
in the infinite mooring of Ceotha
I let my thoughts flow
through the window of memory
you live in my dreams
...you burn in my arms.
One interval is enough and I find you,
I draw you posters and murals
in your horizontal body
naked in the immensity
of the night.