The bouquet of wild white flowers
that I tendered you...

O father where have your fever gone?
Where have your wisdom gone...

Fire is flaring
and moths are exchanging their wings...

Tick-tock, tick-tock she tiptoe walked
towards my door...

Edited
How life and death...

There is a desert between our lips
that cannot be satiated by all the mirages of...

Between that time and this
there has been always now...

Space is the separation
from us...

The fire is everlasting in your eyes.
You inflame me...

If you handle it softly
it would stretch...

Do you remember
in cold winters...

Sunset, sunrise
an opulent pair of bloodshot cherries...