Rare the instants in which the sound silences
The thoughts' horrific ideas
And between one silence and the other that voice
Occasionally returns and starts singing
The dirge which already now travels
The path of the lanterns towards the ground
Which soon will be my ceiling and forever
Without peace nor patience
I would soothe this wait
Which rough and ruthless
Slows down the time's tolls
Painful are these pulses
Which don't follow a pace anymore
But rather a missing person
Frantically through the chest
And that something doesn't repeat itself
For too soon it has vanished
Only the voice of my footsteps
By now within the empty walls
Throughout the first lights
Thought comes back
To the ruthless creed, as usual
Which he painstakingly buried
So deep the night before
Fooled by glasses
Which promptly resuscitates
They do express
A body on the other
An only barycentre
Except for the words
Body on body
Masses attracted
By the same gravity
Communicate
A hand translates
The shapes into regions
The other with care
Outlines and aligns the visages
May the act of faith
Eventually
Speak out
But not the words
The sky is falling
Premature conclusion
Of an amputee feeling
The more intense it's been
The more it slowly
Dies out bleeding
Turning out
The evening
In bed
In the dark
Searching for you
And after all
Minutes and hours
The visage
At heart
I smile at the mental labyrinths
At the wretched beliefs
At my permanent moment of emptiness
And all of a sudden I complain about you
About those deserts between your words
A mouth that only kisses and
My straight line and then yours twisty
Which so rarely collide