We danced
in broken waltzes...

Little nymph, you call me
I am cool and white, bathing in your smile...

There rests the soft horizon,
To whom the lofty sun bequeaths...

Your lips, they are too fierce for this earth,
showering grace and inciting devotion...

In the sunbeams
where I used to glimpse God...

Cold, cold and bright,
still, still the night...

Looked upon by angels
with polyester wings...

Even after eulogies -
praying hard...

I hate the way I feel,
when all I bring to you...

Prickly soft needles lend a pungent smell,
Giving lightly under feet that know the softness...

You
with your shadowy lashes...

It is now the flare
before the final falling...