He writes as if the tip of his muse's tongue
were searching stars in his ears...

If you could get out of your own light
for three minutes...

Behind the door, she waits for more.
it is an urge...

I hope you talk in poems,
touching my insides with...

She knows who rules here
as her wrist is pressed without care...

Ladies and gentlemen,
here she comes...

"why do we have to march?" he asked me.
"to honour our country." i answered...

Draw me again
to nameless things...

Some days, it is enough.
silence and water...

I wish you could be
the voice under my voice...

My love
left me blind...

She was lying in bed, half sick,
feeling, just feeling the song...