Our conscience is the
very presence of others...

There's nowhere to go
for everywhere is here and...

Now
is a magnificent creature of infinity...

I wrote millions of poems for this little rose
and they still are not enough...

It was so beautiful
the bouquet of emotion...

In the confluence
of two opposite successions...

One cannot fathom
things that are too obvious...

It was only for a few moments
but they were infinite...

Life means the amnesia of death,
the amnesia of existence of the death...

All the languages belong to the same arbour
the two outlet bugles...

Our death is intended
unless we prove otherwise...

Is it about my bookshelf
or is it about the depth behind all those books on...