For L. …once more
A small window on the roof.
A lingering presence spreads some shadow and crimson light on her blossoming face.
The heart moans with every beat,
It overcomes her sighs and punctures a wound…
A fissuring wound in the chest.
Her hand caresses my ribs, counting their wishes,
And listens in the silence to the echo of the beat.
I whisper a word…
Two words in a tongue I borrowed from childhood but still sounds alien in my old dream.
“Golden heart” jumps,
Survives another death in her lips.
The light fades in the distance,
All is clouds and vermilion tongues.
I watch myself through the window,
Fading in the darkness,
Dissolving in her face.