You, my creation, my art,
you...

The shrine of loneliness
the involuntary prison of choice...

Don't leave her.
Separation is not freedom...

Pots
brewing on the burners of these corroded...

Speechless is the word!
Poetry is too loud...

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

She said that I was too sad, too damaged,
though I disagreed, ratiocinating...

Somewhere in distance
boundaries of space...

~~revised~~
"I love you for all the women I have not known...

"I love you for all the women I have not known"
(Je t’aime), Paul Eluard...

Inspirations
are like birds...

You, my creation, my art,
you every throb...