Against the night, the color of fire
ruins the purity of darkness,
an unsettling blemish.
Much like desire.
In the last few years, I've grown
into a piece of wood, the kind
that keeps the fire burning.
Once you loved me.
A kind of invisibility serves
the soul, a black robe, a drawn
curtain. In an instant light
disturbs it. O! what is painlessness
compared to beauty?
No comments:
Post a Comment