you change and fly; belonging to the houses,
coming into their dust, far and alive, covering ourselves
with that little air that wastes the trees,
the forgetfulness that smells of you - all things have colors
here, in the part of me that is plagued,
that tears the hours, that forgives them, nearly to uproot
every silence that, with your taste, is dwelling in me.

you mix our breath; like a wave that smashes on its self,
you find the pain of things, the minds of hollow nights
- and the black it's in, always;
it doesn't rain within your master shells, your opened wide
mouths, the walls that deform the height
and become rigid and twisted.

I don't know where I am:
a less dot on your lips,
that're crossed, slowly behind the evening.

you reject me and I've sewed up thousand of awakenings;
like knots of ropes all in row, the rings on my back remain straits,
tightened to the eyes of my flesh. if we had time
as we were little ones in other dwellings, in curved times
in the same hours, tomorrow I would be here
a drunk garden of flowers, a keen and giant body,
with a wrinkle on its face, that plead for you.

I do not have hunger enough, as an ivy that is hanged
by the side of many things; I'm contracted
in that side of world that belongs to you;
and you, up there, a broken up
root that is asking me a bark.

possessing and removing are two layers of moss
that slowly are using up us.

give me a mouth to freeze my self in its breath,
a so serious sin where to grease my nails and to paint my soul.
here it's the black of the ancient things,
in the air that slowly and slowly is crushed.

and tell me how to cry, because I don't know how:
once I was different and now, here, I'm a little broken
stone, waiting for the sea.

shape of mnemonics box
do you hear the scream,
the silence of his steps
the tormented urn of my mouth
wide opened to hear
forgetfulnesses and discards;

just here the door already guards the eyes,
the dense wave that on the windows
is living and calling:
where do you hear sounds, where? - tell me.

another little kiss,
a cast added to my soul:
I bring you beyond my eyes;
the eye socket places at a distance

and drags us there where's no way out
except the borderline of the eyelids
removed just a little by sleep.

tell me, what kind of shape will we have
behind the memories of this house that swallows
all of our things leaves are slashing out;

we'll have little to say with our eyes,

with the length of the lash line that elsewhere

leaves behind and peers our smell.