When my tears wet my foam
At night your thought covers me
Like a brilliant sun sharpening
My heart with ruminations
Melancholied I slip this hint
To be read in confidentiality
But publicised in your heart
that I am optimistic, also caring
Dear, Love is a little death
Which has no effect in chronicle
Without exhibitions, like ours
These days that have passed
Nights we could only dream
of each other
Have painted my brain
as dye does hair
I lack words to acknowledge
our different ways
which Val always make
to be one
« return.