you from death, I

close to it, are childhood that places

a finger on time and says

that not knowing life is a mistake.

I ask myself why

when I turn any corner

I find your surprised candor.

Is horror extreme music?

Sorrows lead to your warmth

sung in your dreams,

the houses of smoke where brilliance lived.

Suddenly, you are alone.

I smell your distant solitude

obedient to its laws of iron.

Thought insists on

bringing you and returning you

to what you never were.

Your saliva is cold.

You weigh less than my desire,

than the tight tongue of the air.