the seasons held us in its hands
Sundays mirror themselves.
in a dream
we are laying together
no truths mouthed
love is useless
we sleep deeply like wine in the concords
time is a beating heart
exchanged in dark words
to my beloved
who cares of old age
life moves forward
often as a spectacle of the cruel
but I do not prefer to die
I do not want to escape anymore
with you
life has an order
these same hands
that once held cruelty & love
often at the same time
begins to forget
the seasoned soul
and live in blind pleasure
as leaves grow dry
and fall to the ground
bare branches pointing to a place
time alas for everything
