I have to go home to write to you.
I have to give you my poor universe in a few lines,
squeezing that sadness, my usual sadness, that lives all the time with me.
Of course, you will not learn anything, there, from your indolent perfection, away from me.
“Every time is different” I always say,
highlighting the surprise of finding a rare pearl in my dinner. . .
But this time, you pushed my door open,
just dressed up with your supernatural smile;
reading me fully,
stamping your name and your taste on my lips,
as if there was only me in your arms,
Then, from the top of your sky, you make me die.
You did not know me, but you saw me there hidden,
you saw my determination in fighting battles every second, while you being indifferent to my furies,
you were surrounding them, while I was staying just there, in front of you.
This delicate work of filigree has made me your apostle,
cursed me for others,
it has completely lost me.
That is why,
while I was falling into that abyss you had prepared for me,
I could only look enraptured, how my star,
like a seal of fire,
was shining on your skin.