Between direct and
indirect lies futurism. How...
It was most beautiful
your broken heart...
You pry out my eyes,
when I look at your hands...
When you walk
on moon in February, I take-down...
I do not know
when to stop my steep ascent...
After the long wait
I forgot how to kiss the flames...
In half-moon
you have been crying inside...
Again my heart
breaks. The light has dimmed...
The rain is pouring down
Creating a soggy back garden...
You had tightened
the grip. I hit a rough patch...
A powerful storm wild and free
It howled and it roared at me...
My maiden guilt
interprets your mysterious signs...