I'm on the edge of myself,
where skin is not enough
and desire spreads
like a nameless flame.

On your body - a mirror of absence -
I search for myself:
a burning instant
between now and nevermore.

The flesh longs for verb,
but all is silence
when I touch you with my soul.

I am a lit shadow,
I am a blind word,
wanting you
where you no longer are.

And in the dark of the room
...

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There is a silence that is not silence
It is the air that refuses to enter
It is the footsteps that echo in empty corridors
the time that drags, heavy
like a body that no longer feels

Fascism does not come with noise
It comes with the absence of song
with the hand that closes around the throat
and says, "This is not pain. This is order."

But there is a light that insists
A tiny light...

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