Find me.
In dim corners...

It was a clear morning outside the yellow kitchen
when the grey weather foreboded mischief...

Powerful like every natural thing
you were reborn in the form...

Kill me in a poem you inspire,
let me write you in my pen...

I leave for you my past
and the last paddle in the sea...

I will no longer write aloud.
This will be my last suicide...

I fear
the shafts of dawn...

She had a face of salt,
her features were fading away...

You stroke the spine
of my iceberg...

Colors dripped on the surface
like goosebumps on tender skin...

Burn my soul in silence;
watch me glint...

I write
to deaden the traffic...