The absolute perfection of the now moment

How poetic is the vision of my trembling body in february's mist?

You slowly made an arch of me,

bending in the tragedy

of truth in the moonlight

''In this snow I will die and you'll have to watch me go''

The revenge burnt on the tip of mind like an echo

the pale arms of that night

the language of our shadows

Absolute aesthetic potency,

longing for a you that's not you

The pity I have,

eating roses from an altar that is blue

May you keep talking to the crows on these days

where you'll miss the sun

May you blow your sacred herbs in a jar

for it to come

And it will speak to the face of your disgrace

myriads of promises falling

like I did when you were revealed

something else than a dream

How glorious is my ghost on your soaking wet collar ?

we will never know