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...

Omnipresence is weaved
when the threads of time entwine...

He is so poor
He has nothing but honesty...

The magic of flowers
is...

The man on wheelchair died.
His legs were amputated before his life...

First the space
was an assumption...

We carve our masks with our faces
against the chisel of darkness...

They think they do not like me.
They doubt of my goodness to be...