Adamma

I want a lilith of my own to write me with her sharp eyes beyond words a shadow with no confusable name which sleeps in sarcophagi at day and enters me at night through the secret door the secret window the tunnel of official silence

to go out together on the street and everyone to see only one pale petite green-eyed woman pulling at an empty leash

to become darkly insane between sheets cut around the mouth yearning for each other without cat-eyes or own skin

I want an existence deformed by the mirrors of the musical boxes with beheaded ballerinas out of nerve of the obsession with a single Finnic song about full moon

a fatal woman hidden in my blood with another name and another life stolen from psychological thrillers

to run continuously one through the other as in a mythological labyrinth and always find ourselves at the exit with a happy smile of knowledge

born out of rage two transparent siameses sharing the same uncontrolled passion of being always otherwise and the same circular dissapointment of being unavoidably unchanged