Nomadic words
do not stay with me...

Moon dust was sprinkled
once more on mangroves...

Different hues were lit up.
A water drop falls on my lips...

A green hunt of words
does not dare to insert...

The blue stare
will stretch on the horizon...

Without audible conflict
I invoke your face...

The moon was coming up
in cross-dressing style...

Half-living in your gaze
a prisoner of messed...

O human face,
coming from the furry past...

Sometimes,
you let it go...

Being me
like a butterfly I cannot...

Step aside.
Tension of mining gold...