Letter

I don\'t know how many eyelashes your eyes are having

or how many stripes, beautifully drawn,

you have embedded on your sometimes dry lips,

I have no idea why your hair tastes as cherries

or why you don\'t leave any folds anywhere you\'d sit.

I once asked myself

where do you take your air from, so I could vaporize

for you to breathe me while you\'re sleeping,

so I \'d fall asleep with you, in a ghostly a-swing.

I don\'t know in what octave your voice fits

but my mind, escapes into a large and empty room,

full of sunny windows,

from where it listens to it

as a concert of the nature.

I don\'t know how to place the words into a necklace

that would suit you perfectly

or to send them to dress you up in absolute love,

I have no clue about karma\'s sacred ways

but I want to sew you on my body,

to melt with you in an alloy

as tough as a pyramid.

P.S. I know you broke a glass. I know I carry a sharp stub, with the print of your lips, in my chest pocket. I know I have my heart red of love.